


to lure a hummingbird (you had me moonstruck)

by justlikelouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Athlete Louis, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Full Moon, Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson are Neighbours, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Musician Louis, Photographer Harry, Plot Twists, Rimming, Smut, Stargazing, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 81,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikelouis/pseuds/justlikelouis
Summary: Before the dawn of their first proper interaction, Louis William Tomlinson doesn't know the impact of the starlit atmosphere. He doesn't know that snails can sleep for three entire years, nor that an octopus' heart rate is tripled due to its inheritance of three cardiac organs. He doesn't know, because he's yet to dive into the enigmatic, limitless mind of Harry Edward Styles.And when he finally knows, he doesn't ever want to go back.Or: An enemies-to-lovers fic where Harry and Louis are neighbours who are forced to get along due to the inconvenience (or convenience) of a broken elevator.





	1. the banoffee pie

 

**March, 2019**

 

From the get-go, Louis swore that if anyone in any branch of the universe was dense enough to hide their spare key under their doormat, humanity was eternally doomed.

Likewise, it had been a matter of concern the few times Louis had witnessed the next-door neighbour in apartment 5D tuck hers behind a wall lantern close upon her door frame. She was Mrs. Osborne—as was told on the hospitable door sign—and according to his assumptions, this woman was in her mid-eighties. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but on every 10th of the month, the sociable old woman would swing by to offer him a slice of banoffee pie.

A group of less concerning residents was the Asian family who lived opposite to him, in apartment 5A. For some unknown reason, part of this four-piece would frequently shoot him unsolvable glares while passing by in the stairwell. Metallic letters spelled out _Mr. and Mrs. Sugimoto_ on their much neater sign, and truth be told, Louis had never even bothered to catch their first names in the three years they’d shared the same building. Maybe this was precisely why they would give him those glares.

Louis’ potentially most concerning neighbour, in apartment 5B, was somebody he’d rather not know more about than he already did. If anyone, this bloke reserved the loving cup of unsolvable glares. Ever since he’d moved in the year before, Louis had considered him too big for his own boots. He even _wore_ boots. But to be fair, most of this antagonism was based on Louis’ unjust preconceptions, given their lack of interaction. Still and all, the bloke was simply _galling_. (Not to mention the time Louis had caught him using a digital camera to snap a picture of a rotten apple core outside the main entryway.)

Besides, this neighbour didn’t need a door sign to remind everyone of his name. Not even Louis. Everyone just _knew_. Because _Harry Styles_ was simply written somewhere in the air, in a speech bubble. Somehow.

Aside from Mrs. Osborne, the Sugimotos and Harry Styles, there was merely _one_ remaining person in the building whom Louis was capable of identifying. Two floors down lived the optimistic yet ineffectual author (Dennis or Douglas?) who consistently hosted an annual get-together in the beginning of April—a happening during which most residents over the age of eighteen would gather to liquor up and prattle about nonsense. Personally, Louis hadn’t made it through a single one of those evenings without waking up with blackouts the morning after.

It was no surprise, but on a Friday, when Louis had returned from the gym and grocery store, a construction worker was repairing the lift in the building. It would break from time to time. Always at the _worst_ times.

So, when Louis showed up, physically drained and practically dripping with perspiration, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to stair-climb all the way up to the fifth floor while carrying a jam-packed paper bag. His hamstrings had already gone sore from exercising, and their fibres certainly didn’t require any further twitching or stretching. He wasn’t usually irascible, but this was simply a very irritable day.

To some extent, clogging his ears with a tune profoundly close to his heart managed to soften the exasperation. It was _All The Right Moves_ by OneRepublic, which happened to be ironic, because when Ryan Tedder sang “so yeah, we’re going down”, Louis simultaneously rounded a corner in the flight of steps and rapidly tumbled into a scurrying figure.

The sudden obstacle knocked Louis off balance, unsettling his grip around the nearly-mangled paper bag. In minor panic, he managed to clutch it tightly to his ribs merely a split second before it would’ve experienced a nose-dive over the marmoreal stairsteps.

After having scraped up his kneecap against a sharp edge, Louis winced and haltingly looked up to observe whatever figure had stomped into him while oozing with a questionable floral fragrance. _Surprise, surprise_. It was, of course, none other than Harry Styles, whose disturbingly symmetrical face Louis had never seen more distressed compared to that moment.

“Jesus,” Styles sighed, wide-eyed and notably red-faced. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I should’ve—” He stopped himself for whatever reason, hunching down in a sapphire hoodie and too-tight khakis in order to collect Louis’ lost broccoli, iceberg lettuce and tomato purée, hugging them to his abdomen. “I swear, I didn’t see you coming. Sorry, again.”

“Just—Here.” Louis crawled up on one knee and boorishly grabbed the groceries one-by-one from Styles’ clutch before squeezing them back down into the crumpled bag. “There.”

“Are you OK?” the curly-headed bloke wondered, standing upright while letting his shamrock-green gaze oscillate between Louis’ sullen face and somewhat grazed knee.

Louis’ nostrils flared. “Yeah, just—Can you let me get past?”

Within the space of two seconds, Harry’s anxious expression faltered and reshaped into a frown.

“I—I didn’t purposely run into you,” he objected and crossed his arms in defence. “You were so quick, I barely had the time to realise you were—”

“ _Please_?”

From the very moment Harry sloped sideways and let him stride past in the stairway, deep-seated guilt battered Louis’ temple with a sledgehammer. This time, unlike any other, Harry had been polite, seemingly attempting to sweep their year-long, uncommunicative rivalry under the carpet.

Louis hadn’t _planned_ to appear curt. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions.

And for once in his life, he disliked himself more than he’d ever disliked Harry Styles.

 

…

 

“So, are you a businessman?”

A twenty-year-old, peppy bloke was perched on Louis’ lap, grinding up against his groin with his hands tucked around Louis’ neck. There had been an active half-hour of drinking rich wine and canoodling on the couch. It wasn’t the most entertaining for Louis, since there wasn’t that significant spark between them, nor did he find the boy massively attractive. He was mostly bored, thinking of ways to enliven the situation.

“No. I’m a personal trainer.”

“Oh,” the fake blonde chirped, fingers trickling in a line down the centre of Louis’ thickly clothed torso. “Does that mean you’re muscular under this jumper?”

“I dunno, why don’t you take a look?”

Easton, as his name was, had been astonished by the pristine white-walled apartment and its egg shell and chiffon furniture. Truth be told, a white couch was surely a dim-witted investment when having a habit of eating by the TV due to the lack of company. But when wanting to impress, clean alternatives were profoundly adequate. This Easton, whose hair was almost as bleached as the settee, had mistaken the choice of colouring for wealth, which was always a positive outcome.

“You’re charming,” Easton beamed and let his fingers slither up underneath the sides of Louis’ graphite, knitted sweater. “It _excites_ me,” he added and thumbed circles into his firm abs. “Oh, wow. These are a nice surprise.”

“Those come with the profession,” Louis answered with a lazy smirk. Easton’s lip was bitten down as he peeled the fabric upward, eventually helping Louis tear the rough texture above his head.

The boy’s eyes scanned over Louis’ chest. It wasn’t long until he had dove forward to pepper the pecs and muscles with slow, wet kisses while concurrently gyrating his hips and bottom against the crotch of Louis’ skinny jeans. Soon enough, their fly was tugged down, Easton’s kisses proceeding down to the fabric of Louis’ black boxer briefs.

Louis was combing his fingers through Easton’s flat fringe when he watched him unleash his semi-hard length and swallow it deep into his mouth. There was no attention to detail in this blowjob, it seemed, but Louis had yearned the feeling of getting off to something that wasn’t garbage porn, and this was good enough. It had been a while for him, and although this session wasn’t an accurate representation of what he felt he needed, it was a decently befitting way of suspending the drive.

Fifteen minutes. Easton’s phone chimed just after Louis came with a cry. He offered to return the favour, but apparently the blonde had to get going. Louis knew he wanted to stay—judging by the needy eyes—but actually felt a single ounce of relief once the sentimental bloke was finally out the door.

It was around eleven PM the same day that Louis got stuck in the goddamned lift.

How fucking ironic. For the past five days, he’d bothered to take the stairs instead of the elevator, and the _one_ time he decided to make an adjustment, the odds had betrayed him. And on top of everything, the internet connection had been busted for the past _half-hour_ , so out of boredom, Louis had decided to go clubbing. Though of course, these plans had to expire the very second he heard the electric motors screech from behind the four metallic walls. Of-fucking-course.

And it would’ve been a lot less ironic and cliché, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Harry sad-face Styles was stuck in the same fucking lift.

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis cursed, just as the vehicular compartment grinded to a halt in between floor three and four.

To his delight, Harry didn’t recognise this as a conversation opener, hence the lack of response. The younger one seemed suppress his worries by simply releasing one light exhale and sliding his spine down along one of the cornered walls, calmly settling on the floor.

Louis turned on his feet, gave Harry a once-over and slid his phone out his pocket to check up on the connection. No service.

“How is there still no fucking internet?” he hissed rhetorically as a coping mechanism, without expecting an answer. He didn’t get one either, simply because Harry was a social with everyone _except_ Louis. Especially now that he’d totally turned their previous meeting upside-down without reason.

The guilty conscience was driving him up the wall. Both mentally and physically, in this case. He cornered himself in the elevator, similarly to Harry, sliding down with his arms slackening over his bucked-up knees. Two minutes of dead air was about everything Louis could handle before he would drop a sudden Freudian slip. Or a simple slip of the tongue. An audible thought.

So naturally, after two silent minutes, Louis said, “Sorry for how I acted earlier”, surprising himself. Of this, he didn’t know whether to feel proud or embarrassed. “Bad day,” he added, glaring into the metallic wall while slouching his shoulders. The gym had been draining enough. Then the process of stair-climbing. Then physically bumping into Harry Styles. Then feeling guilty for that, and for hooking up with a stranger. “ _Really_ bad day.”

There was such a long pause that Louis started to think he was being ignored.

“Do you always have bad days?”

This question tore Louis out of his miserable trance, his eyes riveting on Styles in his same sapphire hoodie, about seven feet to Louis’ left. Even under bleak fluorescent lights, this bloke was annoyingly stunning.

“Excuse me?”

In spite of everything, Harry’s face remained relaxed. “It’s not like you’re the happiest chap I’ve ever run into,” he elaborated, eye squinting after recognising the convenience of the ending expression. “No pun intended.”

Louis snorted wryly, then shook his head. “You’re not bothered by this, is that what you’re saying?”

“Um,” he drawled, precisely in the way that only _Harry Styles_ did, “I would rather be stuck in here with Birdie, that’s for sure. But we’ll get out soon enough. I’m sure somebody will call for assistance.”

Harry slid his hands between his legs and ignored Louis’ gaze by focusing on his own thigh, which was still clothed by the same khakis as before. A pair of odd, black-and-green striped socks reached between the cuffs of his trousers to the tongue of his boots. Yeah, odd.

“How very zen of you,” Louis muttered and tucked his phone back down into his front pocket. To get comfortable, he crossed his ankles while his forearms hung nonchalantly over his kneecaps. “Who’s Birdie?”

“Seriously?”

Louis turned his head again to gain eye contact. A critical one, this time.

“Yes?”

“Your neighbour,” Harry emphasised the second word. “C’mon. 5D? Birdie Osborne. You don’t _know_ her?”

“Oh, Mrs. Osborne,” Louis filled in. “Yeah, I’d rather be stuck with her, too.” A pause. “Birdie,” he repeated for the sole purpose of hearing it again. It had never occurred to him that he had always identified the old woman solely with her surname. “Is that really her first name? _Birdie_?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know that. She has lived here for thirty-something years. How long have you been here? Longer than me, at least,” there was a pause there, but only a short one. “Doesn’t she ever invite you over for tea?”

Louis was taken aback. Not because of how offended Harry seemed by this—even though it didn’t involve him—but because he couldn’t remember ever hearing the bloke speak this fast before. It was true, Harry’s tone was unfathomably slow; he was practically half-human half-tortoise! His way of speaking was basically a repetitive process of protracted vowels; meaning, a sentence that Louis would blurt out in under five seconds would probably take Harry _fifteen_. Though, he sped up when he was feeling bothered, which Louis had now discovered.

“No,” Louis answered the tea question, “but every month she offers banoffee pie at my door.”

“Yeah, well, she bakes for each person on our floor.”

“Oh.” Louis picked at the skin around his fingernails, mainly to appear occupied and mask the slim amount of shame. To mask it even more, he decided to let the conversation _casually_ proceed (emphasis on casually, because it really wasn’t). “Do you know what she puts in that? I’ve always wondered.”

Harry snorted to himself, and Louis turned again to observe the brand-new, humiliating facial expression.

“Banana and toffee, I assume? You know, ban _offee_? Banana- _toffee_?”

“That’s—” Louis stopped himself midway through attempting to gather words to defend the idiotic slip, but struggled to find a way out. “That’s, um, true. Pretty obvious, I realise.”

Then, Harry’s bunny teeth showed, because he was _smiling_. Yes, bunny teeth. Those two in the centre; they were slightly bigger and reached lower down than the remaining line, in a childish, but cute way. Yes, cute. Endearing. This revelation made Louis realise he had probably never even seen him smile, which changed a thing or two. Perhaps it was the debut of the boyish dimples that dug into his cheeks, or the cogent glow that showed hints of happiness inside his irises. Those were green, which Louis had actually noticed before. Somehow though, they now seemed different.

“I mean, the banana is strongly detectable,” Harry proceeded and tilted his head sideways. “To be honest, I doubt that it’s possible to not acknowledge that it’s in there.”

“Yeah, I would agree. It’s just that—” Louis paused there to think of a way to phrase the next sentence without sounding mean. “I’ve never actually finished a piece.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“You throw it away?” There was a trace of misery in Harry’s tone, which Louis wanted to dismiss, because he hadn’t _asked_ for him to make him feel worse than he already did. So he grimaced simply, and watched another sorrowful expression evolve over Harry’s features. “That’s insolent! It’s not like she’s lending us left-overs. She bakes for _our_ _sake_.”

“She does?” Louis blinked, his guilt doubling up when Harry nodded. “Well, it’s not like I do it out of disrespect,” he added. “I don’t eat sugary things, and I should’ve told her the first time but I felt rude turning her down. And now, well, it has been like two years since she started, so I can’t suddenly tell her I don’t want it, can I?” The gesture curled Harry’s lip in the slightest, and Louis continued. “It’s better if she never finds out.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, but brought the subject back just when Louis’ mind had drifted elsewhere.

“Her husband died two years ago,” he said, and Louis felt his eyes drift from Harry to the wall. He already knew the conversation was heading somewhere even worse. “It was on the 10th of some month. August, I believe. Banoffee pie was his favourite dessert and she would always make it for him. But since he isn’t around anymore, she has to bake for someone else, doesn’t she? Every 10th of the month.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you done trying to make me feel like an arsehole?”

When Harry released a laugh from the back of his throat, Louis' face muscles twitched, threatening to form a smile.

“You should speak to her more. She needs all the company she can get,” Harry advised him, and Louis made a mental note to generally pay more attention, even though he was rather convinced he’d been graciously polite to this lady since the beginning.

They fell into a pit of silence, Louis feeling giddier than before. Two minutes didn’t have to go by, because now Harry had taken charge:

“I assume you don’t know Sukiko either.”

“Is that one of the Asians?”

Harry rolled his emerald eyes. “That’s all you know about them? Their ethnicity? At least specify with Japanese.”

“All right,” Louis said and held his hands up in defence, smiling because, well, he didn’t exactly know. “So, Sukiko?”

“She’s the mother. Such a lovely woman,” Harry emphasised the adjective and stared down at his khakis once again, this time beginning to fiddle with a loose thread in one of the seams. “The children, Reo and Haruto, always watch _Peppa Pig_ on crazy-high volume. So there’s this constant squeaky voice heard through the wall.”

Louis chuckled, his features stilling once he’d briefly mulled over Harry’s sentence.

“Does that imply that you hear _me_ through the wall as well?”

Harry was in 5B, next to Louis’ 5C but the green-eyed boy had never made a noise worth remembering, as far as Louis was concerned. Potentially, there had been a TV playing loudly at some point, like the Japanese kids’, but there had never been anything significant that he’d be able to bring out into the open.

Harry showed a one-dimpled smile. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” Louis answered, his heart rate speeding up. He had barely even contemplated the thought of his neighbours being bothered by any noises he might’ve caused on his own, or whilst with someone else. “I mean, I’ve never had a noise complaint.”

“That’s because you live next to _me_ and woman who’s partially deaf.”

Louis’ mouth parted, another breathy laugh escaping him. “Are you serious?” His back was no longer leaning against the wall as he was tilting forward due to this sudden, mental earthquake. “You’ve heard me? Several times? Should I be embarrassed?”

It seemed that Harry was too bashful to even remain the eye contact. “Depends on what you want me to hear, and what you would rather keep to yourself.”

“Well, it’s rather obvious, the part I want to keep to myself, I mean.”

“Too bad,” Harry replied and clapped his hands together, which made Louis’ heart jump under his rib cage. There Harry was again, fidgeting and picking at the shredded seam of his trousers. A smile still hinted in the corner of his mouth, but his cheeks had obtained a salmon-like shade. “You had someone over earlier today, am I right?”

“No way,” Louis muttered, his forehead smacking into the cuffs on his arms, which were still crossed over his slack-covered kneecaps. “That—That’s just fucking great.”

Harry was smiling again, it seemed. He could tell by the certain pitch. “I mean, did you think the walls were soundproof?”

Remaining tilted into the frame of his arms, Louis chuckled and squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he’d never would’ve been informed of this to begin with. Although, perhaps it was a good thing. From now on, he’d be aware, and remember to keep it down at times. The most haunting thought however, was recalling his own guttural moan the moment Easton had helped him climax. This was something Harry had actually heard, and that information was enough to make Louis not want to exit the apartment for days.

Eventually, his sniggering must’ve been mixed up with occasional sighing, which had to confuse Harry’s ear. He easily could’ve mistaken him for shedding tears.

“You OK?”

Correct. Louis gave away a humorous exhale into his kneecap before letting his eyes reunite with the grey walls. The sudden fluorescence momentarily cluttered his vision. He blinked a couple times, regaining his regular sight.

“You’re not how I expected,” he confessed, remaining focused on the wall.

There was a sappy sense of silence, enforced by them both for the sake of including a dramatic pause. Fucking hell. The fact that they, as former rivals, had found themselves stuck in the same elevator was already cliché enough. And now this. A lame-ass pause after Louis had been genuinely _nice_. They clearly knew how to manoeuvre a conversation until it would comply with the epitome of a cliché scenario. To Louis, it was pathetically satisfying.

“That’s probably because you never listened when somebody tried to teach you not to judge a book by its cover,” Harry answered.

“Oh, come _on_.” Louis cringed, his frame actually shrinking. “You honestly couldn’t have chosen a less overused phrase,” he complained, then stretched his legs out and crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry’s gasp combined with his laughter. “See? Just because you think it’s hackneyed, you won’t even pay attention to its essence.”

“Are you serious? You’re claiming that you follow that proverb? Like a fucking motto?”

“I try to.”

Louis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s impossible. It’s literally _impossible_. Everyone judges people. It’s a human instinct.”

“You’re just thinking of it the wrong way,” Harry argued, copied Louis’ leg-gesture and locked his hands together in his lap. Louis was quiet then, awaiting a reasonable explanation. “Okay, listen. A novel’s average length is around one-hundred thousand words. Now, if a person was a novel…” There, Louis rolled his eyes, and Harry groaned in dismay. “C’mon. Just listen.”

“Fine,” Louis agreed, shifting one leg up to hug against his torso.

“If a person was a novel, those one-hundred thousand words would be symbols to illustrate different fragments of their personality.” During his short pause, he swallowed and inhaled, his lips going glossy after he licked them. “So, you would have to read through the first page, _at_ _least_ , to get a decent perception of who they are. Right?”

“Mate,” Louis grimaced, smiling all the while. “I would need a goddamned dictionary to get past the first fucking paragraph of yours. You’re too bombastic with all the pathetic fallacy. The analogies and metaphors do my head in, honestly.”

“You’re the same! Stop insulting me,” Harry bleated, bottom lip sagging downward. “See? You read two lines in mine, kind of enjoyed it but then got bored and tossed it shut,” he went on, and Louis, for once, appeared genuinely satisfied with the analogy, “and now—now you’re stomping on me.”

“Stomping on you? Because I’m insulting?”

“Yes.”

“So, what now? Do I have to stroke your spine to cheer you up? Like the Monster Book of Monsters in _Harry Potter_? ‘Cause you’re a book?”

Harry’s pout dissolved and was replaced by another dimpled smile, which soon also transformed into a chuckle. There was pink in his cheeks again, this time more magenta than salmon.

“That was a good reference, I’ll give you that. Although, I would quite like it if you didn’t touch my spine. Or I might bite your fingers off.”

“Oh—How much further do I need to read into your book before I can officially establish that you’re a psychopath?”

Harry laughed while tilting his head back. “Don’t say that without knowing of the actual symptoms.”

“Wow. You must be fun at parties.”

The sarcasm made Harry laugh _again_. “I’m just saying. As an example, psychopaths lack empathy. Let’s put that in perspective. Each month, you throw Birdie’s sentimental banoffee cake in the garbage,”—Louis tutted his tongue through a smile—“and that doesn’t appear very empathetic to me. I, however, can proudly state that I’ve eaten every single slice. So, who’s actually closer to being a psychopath out of the two of us?”

“I am empathetic,” Louis muttered, smiling over his pouting facade, which appeared almost as excessive after Harry’s when he’d been insulted. “Now that I know of the sentiment and pay loads of respect to the underlying story, I promise to eat the whole slice, every month.”

At this point, Louis was so used to Harry cracking up or beaming at his choice of wording that he’d almost repressed the sullen glares he was so used to receiving around the stairwell. It seemed that maybe, yeah, _maybe_ Harry Styles could be a blessing in disguise.

“So,” Harry started, and Louis curiously awaited the next sentence. “Are we ever going to talk about it?”

“… The banoffee pie?”

A soft laugh followed after Harry’s sigh as it seeped through his lips.

“You know what I mean.”

Louis tried to trace his thoughts back to the previous conversation, and the one before that—as far as he could—but nothing seemed suitable for what Harry was reaching for.

“I think you’re gonna have to elaborate.”

Harry parted his glossy lips to inhale, and just he did the electric motors behind the metallic walls screeched and the lift started to drift in movement, almost knocking the two of them over. Louis swore, as startled as he was, stood upright and dusted off his knees while inspecting the illustrious monitor above the door to keep track of the ascending floors.

After few moments of expectancy, the doors skimmed open on floor number five, revealing the figures of two familiar citizens; the recognisable construction worker, and Mrs. Osborne herself.

“I apologise, you two,” the middle-aged man began, “I thought I had just repaired it, but apparently not. How long were you in there?”

Louis had _no_ idea.

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?” Harry suggested and shrugged one shoulder, quickly casting an eye over his companion. Though, Louis could’ve heard him say half an hour, or even forty minutes, and he wouldn’t have raised objection. “Don’t worry, though. We should’ve known to take the stairs.”

Apparently, Mrs. Osborne was the one responsible for the discovery of the incident as well as calling the constructor for service. This would often be the case, since this woman was the one resider who required the perks of the elevator the most.

“Thank you so much,” Harry was talking to said ‘Birdie’ when the man had escaped. Though, Louis stood right beside them, feeling awkward with pocketed hands. There was a pair of 3D glasses tucked into the outer pocket of Mrs. Osborne’s brown leather purse, which Harry also observed. “Are you going to the movie theatre?”

“I thought I would give it a try,” the old woman chuckled, her voice frail and shaky. “I haven’t been since Eugene passed.”

Guilt weighed down over Louis’ heart again as he automatically recalled the story of the fucking banoffee pie. Never had he ever thought a piece of pastry could bare so much meaning, and that it could affect him like this. Even though it was heartbreaking, the memory of Harry’s reaction made him smile.

“You’re not going on a movie-date, are you? That could be fun.”

Her rocky chuckle returned. “Oh, Harry, dear. You silly young man.”

Birdie Osborne used a cane to mince down the stairs, but before she did so, Harry—of course—offered to help her down. She declined politely, kissed both his cheeks and confidently strode down the steps with her handbag tucked closely over her shoulder. After watching the whole procedure and recollecting some of his previous memories, Louis thought he had never felt like a worse human being than when he compared himself to Harry.

“Aren’t you gonna get going?” asked his green-eyed neighbour once Birdie was out of reach, as Louis was still standing motionless and awkwardly observant. Harry gave him a quick (and slightly flustered?) once-over. “Looks like you were planning to go out.”

Louis adjusted his collar and cuffed up the arm to his slate coloured shirt before tucking his hands back down into the pockets to his dark slacks. The plan had been to reinforce his guilt even further by finding a nice boy to end the night with. Another stranger. But he was done feeling guilty. At least for now.

“Yeah, I was gonna go out,” Louis answered, nodding. “I um, I think I’ve changed my mind, though. If the internet’s back on, I might just go inside to watch Netflix.”

Granted, Harry obviously could’ve been a nice boy to end the night with. But this wasn’t the thought that was bugging Louis. An epiphany had occurred. There was, in actuality, a reason most residents knew of Harry Styles, and it wasn’t because he was good-looking. It bugged him, though. Because all this time, he’d been criticising somebody who turned out to be a much better person than himself.

Another cliché, dramatic pause. Of course. Those were infinite.

“So,” Harry said. “When are you inviting me over for coffee?” A shorter pause. Surprise washed over Louis, presumably forming an ambiguous facial expression that he had failed to regulate. Which made Harry backtrack. “I mean, as a friend-thing.”

“We’re friends now?” Louis wondered, his smile growing broader, teeth showing. Harry’s mouth copied the same gesture, but instead of pocketing his hands like Louis, he let them fiddle at his thigh. “From rivals to friends, I suppose. Because of a shitty lift.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Louis’ mood brightened in the slightest. “So, coffee? Tomorrow?”

“Promise?”

Louis had began to pace backwards, a more mellow smile curling over his face. Harry must’ve thought he was still playing around, still secretly despising him and planning to angrily call him out the next time they would crash into each other in a staircase while knocking over vegetables from Louis’ grocery bag.

But self-evidently, this was no longer the case.

“I do promise,” Louis answered, reassuring him. “Just like I promise to eat that banoffee pie.”

 


	2. four shots, blackout

 

Louis woke up early.

Much earlier than necessary. He would never admit to this, but during the course of an hour, he had showered, dusted off the kitchen- and seating area, fluffed the cushions on the couch, vacuumed every room in the flat, and finally furnished those ashy fucking curtains he’d purchased during the Christmas sale but never got around to installing. This was a secret (unless Harry had woken up to the shrill sound of the vacuum cleaner through the wall). He simply wasn’t trying to impress Harry. No he _wasn’t_.

Because this was a friend-thing, as Harry had phrased it. A thing that friends do. Friends who really shouldn’t be just friends, according to Louis—

No.

It was in fact a friend-thing. Simple. Just two neighbours being friendly over a cup of coffee. Right.

Seeing as Louis’ perception of Harry was a now living smiley-face and Louis was shamefully endeared by his boyish dimples, he could actually picture the two of them on a friendlier basis. (Not that it had ever crossed his mind that Harry could eventually hollow those dimpled cheeks to give Louis head at the end of his bed—No, it _hadn’t_.)

Because this was a friend-thing. This was about Louis trying to view Harry as something else than a possible shag, while attempting to keep his cock sane under its sealed zipper.

It wasn’t exactly new information that Harry was attractive. Louis had always known this. In fact, it was his unfathomable glares that had been the instant turn-off. However, as Harry was now a living smiley-face, Louis had quite enjoyed witnessing him plead for a coffee invite. Even if it was only a friend-thing.

His doorbell rang at one o’clock.

Harry was wearing a purple cardigan. Louis hated it. He absolutely _despised_ it. The cotton material was thin, and if Louis had had some high-tech form of hearing aid, he was sure he would’ve been capable of hearing a distant voice from the vibrant textile, whisper-shouting _please take me off._

And no, this thought-process simply wasn’t a symbol of Louis secretly wanting to undress Harry. Not at all.

“You’re here already,” Louis opened with, which he regretted, because maybe he should’ve said _hello_ , or _welcome,_ to be polite. “Well, we didn’t agree on a specific time, so whatevs. Come inside.”

“Thanks,” Harry answered, dimpled and all that (Louis couldn’t look away).

He had only brought shoes—or boots in specific—since he lived next door and there wasn’t much else to bring. Though, he wore jeans today, which were even tighter than yesterday’s khakis, and Louis had to train his eyes elsewhere to avoid getting his eyes distracted by those deliciously rounded thighs.

“Don’t you have a shoe rack?” Harry wondered, and Louis blinked out of a trance.

“Oh, no.” Louis’ finger fit around a handle in the wall that was barely visible to the untrained eye. There, he opened up a closet with his neatly organised shelf of footwear in all ranges. He collected Harry’s brown, worn-out shoes and placed them next to his own ironically porcelain-white trainers.

“Wow. This is neat,” Harry stated, still watching the shoe collection before letting his gaze soar to the coats and jackets above. A spectrum from white to grey to black reached along the railing, one out of two leather jackets being traced by Harry’s pinkie. “I didn’t know you were so structured.”

“Well, we talked for the first time yesterday. So, there’s not much you can know, is there?”

“That’s not true,” Harry hummed, ignoring Louis’ heavy eye contact. “We’ve talked before.”

He moved on from the impressive closet to move further into the hallway, which ended soon thereafter and shifted into a much broader, kitchen- and living room area.

"Yeah, for two seconds.”

Harry wore socks that ended over his ankles, rolled and white with red and navy dots that Louis assumed were prints of berries. It was one of those peculiar features that Louis would silently fawn over, even though it was far from anything he would ever clothe his feet with. The sapphire hoodie from the day before had given close to the same effect, although this was more exquisite; a minuscule detail that Louis found strange, but fucking adored at the same time.

Louis followed Harry’s soundless feet as they padded over to the kitchen.

It was L-shaped, the broader one of the two counters following along the side of the wall, while the arched end made up its own wall to divide the kitchen from the living room. Louis’ kitchen was all white. To his approval, the countertop was pristine and clean, while the coffee machine stood perched in the corner where the two counters crossed.

“So this is where you throw away Birdie’s pie,” Harry taunted in the calmest voice while opening the cupboard under the sink.

“Ha-ha,” Louis clapped back, fingers collecting two white porcelain coffee cups from behind one of the glass doors from eye level. “You’re welcome to rummage through my rubbish. I can assure you there won’t be any birthday gifts or thank-you cards. They’re all safe.”

“Thank-you cards?” Harry snorted and gently slammed the cupboard shut to then use it to lean against. “Who on earth would send you a thank-you card?”

Louis’ eye squinted, and instead of admitting that it had been an imaginary example to underline the punchline of his joke, he decided to make up another one, while washing his hands under the warm tap.

“I tend to invite boys over for coffee.” This joyous tone and its essence made Harry scoff, and Louis proceeded, “So yeah, they’ve all been exceptionally thankful, it seems. Enough to drop by with a nice card.” A smirk had settled over him as he dried his hands and glanced over at Harry. “I assume you are too, since you were the one suggesting this.”

Harry crossed his arms. “ _You_ suggested this.”

“Nuh-uh.” Louis pointed a fixed finger at Harry, and something softened, or changed, somehow, in Harry’s emerald eyes. “Don’t try to rewrite history, young man. It was no less than fourteen hours ago, and I remember that pleading look on your face.”

“But—” Harry started, and stopped himself when he noticed Louis starting to fiddle with the coffee machine. “Wait. Don’t do black for me. Or were you—What kind are you making?”

“Just espressos,” Louis said, his face tranquil before Harry’s nose wrinkled. “No?” Harry shook his head. “OK then, Princess,” he crooned sarcastically. “To what do I owe the pleasure? A Tahitian Vanilla Macchiato, maybe? Sprinkles on top?”

Harry rolled those juvenile eyes, smile staying present. “Stop. I just don’t like the strong taste. Could I have something less bitter? A latte?”

Louis wasn’t sure whether he liked the way Harry was seeming younger and younger for every word he spoke. Not in a naïve way, because Harry seemed more sophisticated than Louis could ever imagine himself to be. In spite of this, Harry was like a little sweet. A sweet that Louis had found, licked the outer layer of, and been tempted to taste more of. Because Louis didn’t eat sweets. Never. It was something he had abandoned after establishing a career as a personal trainer. But it was exciting, how Harry was so full of sugar and adolescence, even though he wanted to tuck the sweet back into its wrapper, and maybe save it for later, or not keep it at all.

“By all means,” Louis quipped. “Does that mean you’d like mocha flavour, or some shit?”

“If that’s an option…”

“Of course.” He smirked knowingly, picking up the barely used canister from one of his drawers. Thereafter, he mixed the mocha powder with hot water inside Harry’s cup, eventually stuffing the two porter filters with regular coffee powder. One for an espresso, and one for Harry’s Mocha Latte.

As the baskets were locked in place, Louis’ wrist pushed into the edge of the countertop to sway back on the balls of his feet and catch Harry staring, then fiddling over one of the buttons to his upsettingly horrific cardigan.

“So you’re a barista? Or are you self-taught?”

“Self-taught,” Louis clarified, just as the coffeemaker started to hum from his side. “You’re gonna have to get used to the bitterness, if we’re gonna be friends. Because this,” Louis patted the machine as if it had been a person or a pet, “is the epitome of passion.”

“Seriously?” Harry smiled, his brows jerking up at the confession. Louis lazily walked over to the fridge to collect a carton of milk. “It’s bad for your mental health, though. Don’t you lose sleep?”

“It’s not a big problem for me.” He returned to the machine, poured the milk into the small frothing pitcher and began steaming it shortly afterwards. “I’m not an addict in any way. Nor do I have health problems. I’m a personal trainer, so it’s sort of my job to stay fit.”

“Oh,” Harry reacted, nodding to collect the information. “That’s good for you then. That explains the no-sugar-policy.” A breathy chuckle seeped through Louis’ nostrils. “Gosh. I wouldn’t survive one day in the life of Louis.”

Maybe Louis had cleaned in vain. He had realised that even if he’d fluffed the cushions on the couch, vacuumed the floors and even the carpet, Harry probably wouldn’t take notice of any of those details. Because when Harry settled on the chiffon couch with his latte safely enclosed by his hands, he barely even glanced around the room. Neither did ever he let his gaze linger over the new, ashy curtains that had taken Louis twenty fucking minutes to furnish.

Maybe Harry simply wasn’t drawn to interior design. Or maybe he just wanted to watch Louis instead.

A single sip into Louis’ espresso, satisfaction fulfilled his cravings in the form of a calming haze. The complex brew of caffeine, warmth and bitterness absorbed over his taste buds before spilling down at his throat, his eyelashes fluttering with ease. Feeling calm and energised at the same time, Louis sensed his eyes growing wider as he gazed over at Harry on the opposing couch. Louis slurped again, then sunk further back into the plush backrest of his dearest armchair.

“Too bitter?” Louis wondered when he witnessed Harry wincing, his tongue brushing over his lips.

“No.” He shook his head, the dark-brown curls dancing at his temples. They were quite endearing to watch. In fact, they seemed to have created even more loops this day compared to the day before.

Harry’s lips formed a circle to add a sharp, breathy blow over the frothy surface. Just as he did, a blob of foam from the skimmed milk brushed up on the tip of his nose.

“Just hot. But good. You—You’re good.”

Louis’ mouth twitched into lopsided smile. “You can’t feel that?”

Harry’s big eyes blinked. “What?”

“Your—” Louis wafted a finger in a circle around his own nose, and Harry received the silent memo, wiping his button nose with the back of his hand. “Exactly. There you go, mate.”

Harry noisily sipped from the brim, cheeks bright and rosy.

“So, what do you think of my place?” Louis asked, simply because he had been curious to know, and it didn’t seem like Harry was going to inform him if he didn’t ask for a second opinion.

Harry, for what seemed to be the first time, let his eyes scan our surroundings to take notice of the few black-and-white paintings on the biggest wall, and the synthesizer placed directly underneath. His eyes seemed to linger there before examining the TV screen ahead of them, and the four-person dining table at the end of the room, right underneath the spacious windows to the balcony.

“Do you play piano? Keyboard? Or synth—Is that what they’re called?”

Louis’ grimace returned. “Oh, dear. It _pains_ me how unsure you just became.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckled, sipping again. “I’m not—Er, well, I guess I’m not that into music.”

Louis could almost swear he felt something hard hit his scalp. “You’re, _what_?”

It was almost as if Harry was hiding his face behind the cup to mask the shame that washed over him. “Okay, I mean—I do listen to the radio.”

“Oh, no.” Feeling ambivalent, Louis sighed in antipathy even though he was slightly relieved to find out that Harry actually had a downside. Although, this downside was absolutely abominable. One of the fucking worst. “Harry, Harry, Harry…” Louis set his coffee down to rub the frustration out of his forehead and hairline. There was in fact a line of sweat there. “Don’t even—No. I don’t want those words coming out of you ever again.”

“What’s wrong with the radio?” Harry asked, still blushing, but smiling all the while.

To Louis, it was in fact preposterous how a person could be so indifferent to the phenomenon that is music, that they are willing to let _the radio_ regulate their selection of preferred songs. The truth was, _the radio_ merely offered a bleak concoction of minimal lyrical effort and banally orthodox beats and melodies of humdrum popular music. The vast majority offered zero introspection. Zero creativity. Copies of copies continued surpass one another on the charts every single day. And Louis was so sick of hearing the _same fucking thing._

“Just—No. Don’t even mention that. All right? I will—” Louis stopped there, because he hadn’t exactly planned on what to say, or how he would persuade Harry to save his unsophisticated musical habits. “I could play you a song—You know what? I will play you my favourite album, while you’re here.”

Thenceforth, the plan was to help Harry undergo a musical revelation under the course of forty-seven minutes, which was meant to begin the very moment Louis had put on OneRepublic’s second studio album, [ _Waking Up_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h627pchfKGA&list=PLLkEyoCftkz7zmOKYTEmNI4gcjsr_Ys5e).

A while into track three (one of Louis’ favourites) Harry said, “I would never be able to go out running, the way you do.”

Before elaborating, Harry swirled his spoon noisily against the porcelain walls to the empty cup, in the most pointless matter. Perhaps he wanted to keep his hands occupied.

“In the mornings,” Harry specified. “I would never have the energy. Or any other part of the day, for that matter. Running isn’t my thing.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Louis asked, feeling amused while trying his best not to mind that they were talking over the chorus of this marvellous tune, a sense of frustration which Harry obviously couldn’t relate to.

“Oh,” Harry went, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that this question could follow up. Pink blotches teased over his cheekbones. “I um, sometimes eat breakfast on the balcony, and you—you run past there.”

The amusement kicked up Louis’ eyebrows in a smug manner. “That I do,” he said, his fingertips tracing along the side of his jawline. “I’ll be sure to give you a wave the next time I catch you lurking up there.”

“I’m not lurking!” Harry insisted, feet tripping forward as he placed down his latte. “I simply … enjoy sitting through the morning breeze. You just happen to … be there. At times.”

“Maybe I should make our public park my new stretching spot, too. You know, to allow you some more motivation to sit through the cold.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, his cheekbones having pinkened even further. Now that he wasn’t holding his cup, there was no brim to hide behind anymore. “All I was trying to say was—” But, he plunged back on the couch and curled up into a leg-hugging position, which radiated complexity. “Never mind.”

Louis’ head tilted. “No, tell me.”

Harry stared down into his lap. “It’s just quite impressive. How you manage to get up to do so every morning. ‘Cause I would never.”

“Coffee, mate.” Louis toasted his cup in the air to symbolise, and Harry looked up through his lashes, allowing a longed-for chuckle. “Also, I sorta have to. It keeps me alert throughout the day, when I don’t have caffeine in me.”

“So when do you go to bed?”

Louis’ lip arched cockily. “Trying to memories all my routines?” Harry rolled his eyes, smiling shyly. “Around eleven to twelve on workdays. Sometimes later. ‘Cause of the caffeine, again.”

Harry uncoiled his legs from his embrace and set one of them down over the edge of the glass table while the other curled up underneath his thigh. They were in fact socks with berry-prints, Louis acknowledged. The smug arch over his lip twitched with amusement.

“That’s not good. I tell you what. If you help me improve my nonexistent taste in music”—Louis’ sudden grimace reshaped into a soft, content smile—”I will teach you how to improve your sleeping schedule in exchange.”

Slumping forward again, Louis regained his previous position and rubbed his palm over his fist between his kneecaps.

“Does this offer include any bullshit mindfulness meditation?”

“Not if you don’t want it to.”

Louis’ teeth were revealed under his curved upper lip. “OK, then I’m in.” He fell back again, twirling a finger in the feathery hairs at his sideburn. “Tell me, Coach Styles. How do I acquire my beauty sleep?”

Both Harry’s index fingers uncurled in front of him, as if to count in steps. “First of all: don’t drink coffee in the evenings.” Louis’ expression immediately slackened. “What? That’s obvious and mandatory.” Continuing the procedure, his index finger tapped over a middle one. “Secondly: don’t mind showering before going to bed. Instead, take a _bath_ and light candles all around it, preferably scented ones because they soothe your brain—”

“ _Dear Lord_ , Harry,” Louis huffed, dropping both forearms over the armrests. “My place isn’t bloody Bath & Body Works. I don’t own either of those things.”

“No bathtub?”

“Of course not.” Louis’ shoulders slouched. “How fucking broad is your bathroom? I thought ours were the same size.”

“I’m pretty sure they are,” Harry added with a sigh. “All right. Put scented candles on your shopping list.” As an additional note, he concluded with, “Yankee’s are nice.”

“Alright, Captain.” Louis elbowed into the armrest to balance his temple against his palm. “What’s next? Face masks? Hatha Yoga?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, completely aware of Louis’ mocking tone. It made him laugh. “Although, the most important part is that you stop using your phone two hours before going to bed.”

“If you’re telling me _you_ do that, I don’t fucking believe you.”

Harry’s berry sock shot up from the table, eventually crossing over the second one on the couch. “It’s not that difficult. Take a bath after dinner, light candles, and stay in until it turns cold. There’s one hour gone. Brush your teeth, moisturize, read?—I dunno, do _something._  And there you have it. Brain’s undistracted. You’ll fall asleep in no time.”

“This is clearly why I don’t hear you through the wall.”

Harry actually laughed, this time without showing emotions of irritation. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But.” Louis’ eyes narrowed into slits. “What do you do in the bath for an _hour_?”

Harry’s cheekbones regained their pink glow, a subtle smile twitching at his lips. “It’s a Jacuzzi. It doesn’t get cold, so it’s easier to stay in for a long time.”

Louis’ eyes bulged. “You have a _Jacuzzi_? And I don’t even have a fucking bathtub?”

Harry simply shrugged.

“That’s fucking cool, to be honest. An hour is still quite long, though.”

Harry sighed and scratched the back of his hand. “Well, sometimes I bring my laptop there. To watch documentaries.”

Louis leaned forward again, this time balancing his jaw atop his fists, which elbowed into his thighs. “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of the no-electronic-devices guideline?”

“I guess.” Harry’s nose wrinkled, and Louis smiled. “But watching a TV show, or something, tires you out. Just don’t binge-watch. Perhaps one episode, or two. A movie is better. Or a documentary.”

Chit-chatting with Harry for a long period of time didn’t require any sustained effort. It seemed that they never ran out of things to say, because Harry always had another great story to tell, and Louis also liked talking about himself (maybe a bit too much).

As time went on, Louis made Harry another latte.

Harry had to get used to the bitterness, Louis reasoned. Therefore, he skipped the mocha flavour when brewing the second cup. The idea was that Harry would get closer and closer to drinking an espresso after each and every cup Louis would make him. Harry surprisingly agreed to this, but claimed that he would blame Louis all his life in case he would ever become an addict.

Louis was a smooth talker. Somehow, he had ended up on the couch next to Harry while helping him get out of his horrific cardigan. Obviously, Louis was pleased to reveal the white scoop-neck tee underneath, which was thin enough for Louis to be able to examine Harry’s slim waist and torso. The collar hung below his jutting collarbones, which made Louis gulp.

Thank God, the grandma-cardigan was off (and Louis was shifting to adjust his pants).

“Better?”

“Mm,” Harry purred, lip drawing back to hide under the brim to the coffee cup. It seemed that he burnt his tongue, though, hence the light flinching.

“Again?” Louis chuckled, placing a careful hand at the top of Harry’s spine. “You’ve gotta wait for a bit, dear.”

Harry tensed up under Louis’ hand, still sipping carefully. “I like this one,” he said, almost as if he was in a rush to speak. “It’s nice.”

Louis smiled and drifted in reverse to sag against the backrest. “The latte?”

“Erm, I meant the song.”

He didn’t know how it was possible, but he had almost blocked out the melodious sounds that swirled from the Spotify Chromecast. Though, as he was back to paying attention, he quickly identified the lyrics, the euphony of the track and its symphonies.

“Oh. You actually like it?”

Louis had clearly lost control of his own hand. It was then sliding up to fiddle with the ringleted hairs that reached out in the nape of Harry’s neck. Just as a curl encircled his middle finger, Louis acknowledged the goosebumps on the skin underneath. Harry nodded, the cup resting at his chin.

“It doesn’t surprise me, actually. This is one out of the two songs that actually _would_ be played on the radio. It’s a single.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, his nose dipping down as he blew over the coffee.

It seemed that this was where they ran out of things to say. This was where Harry lost track of his storytelling, because all they could both focus on was _Louis touching Harry’s neck_. Nothing would stop him, so his fingers continued to play and fiddle while both of them pretended that this was regular. Mundane. A friend-thing.

“I’ve never heard you play piano through the wall,” Harry said after a good twenty seconds of silence. He was still wall-eyed, his thumb prodding idly at the handle to his cup. “How come?”

“I use headphones. So I can block out everything else.”

“How long have you been playing for?”

Louis’ fingers eventually slipped down and found the small of Harry’s back, where they rested comfortably, their tips curling around his thin waist. This brought the tension down, considering Harry’s exhale and change of firmness in his muscles. Also, he actually _looked_ at Louis, his verdure doe-eyes radiating emotions of apprehension.

“Eight years, or summat.”

With newly licked lips, Louis made an effort to force a smouldering gaze paired with narrowed eyes, which made Harry swallow and glance in another direction. Eventually, Louis removed the hand and balanced it atop the backrest. It was a _friend-thing_ , after all. Maybe that was truly all Harry that wanted out of this. A friendship.

It wasn’t long until the conversation had kicked off again, because when Louis’ hand wasn’t fondling over Harry’s spine, the bloke seemed at ease and less jittery. Actually, not jittery at all. Even if Louis’ arm was right behind his head, airily encircling him, he allowed himself to fall right back into his comfort zone, throwing out questions regarding Louis’ nonexistent music career.

“Self-taught in piano _too_? Well, aren’t you a handy man?”

In a jesting manner, Louis flexed one of his biceps and kissed the bulging bump. Harry’s head tipped back, his chest shaking with mirth. He was as flustered as ever, the salmon-like shade having made a reappearance on his dimpled cheeks. Louis hadn’t been flaunting on purpose, but knowing Harry had a thing for his muscles was a pleasant discovery.

“YouTube’s my virtual teacher,” he said.

Harry nodded, coming down from his euphoric state while brushing his thumb over the porcelain to his cup and settling down from the sudden outburst of warmth in his face.

“You’re…” Harry started but trailed off, his thumb tapping in place. A [ quiet, mellifluous intro ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1QijFEB8TfVgDHdBqPczo6?si=u5JtbzwjS_2Q7-RboYHulQ) piped the room from the speakers, subdued guitar-picking humming under the celestial hymn. Harry gulped again and stared aimlessly into his latte, collecting the words before opening up again. “I—I’m sorry for being so nervous.”

“No. You’re fine,” Louis cooed, bending forward on the couch to clasp his hands together and search for Harry’s gaze, which seemed out of reach until it finally met with his, five seconds later. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. I mean, I didn’t mean to bother you when I touched you earlier. That was—That was strange. I just—Yeah. I shouldn’t have.”

Harry’s cerise lips smacked together as his gaze shoved downward again to the favourite staring spot: his coffee cup.

“That was fine,” he said. “You can do that.”

Louis’ throat made a short chuckling sound. “But you tensed up.”

It seemed that Harry was chewing the inside of his cheek. “Tense isn’t an equivalent for uncomfortable.”

“Sometimes it is, though.”

“I wasn’t.”

Louis’ hand was slow, but eventually, it cupped Harry’s knee. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Harry replied in a childlike, treble tone.

It was something about this innocence that enticed Louis. In spite of the sophistication in Harry’s persona, Louis could tell that he was probably still a teenager. It was impressive, and he wanted to know more about how this could be. Harry’s adolescent dimples and curls, skittish nature and callow choice of apparel were the deal-breakers. Although, Louis enjoyed all of these immensely.

“How old are you?” Louis asked, without sounding insulting. It was bizarre, he thought, how he had gone this long without knowing of the following information.

“Nineteen,” Harry answered, eyes petrified when they found Louis’.

“Okay,” Louis nodded, “You’re very mature. Believe me.”

“You?” Harry asked, fingers playing over his own bottom lip.

“I’m twenty-three,” he answered, thumb tapping over the side of Harry’s knee. The boy nodded slowly, his hands hugging around the coffee cup. “That’s fine, right? Your brain development seems to be ahead of mine anyway.”

Harry’s lips twirled up shyly. “You barely know me.”

There were an endless supply of possible replies. He could’ve mentioned how impressed he was with his eloquence and witty clapbacks. He also could’ve mentioned how jealous he was of Harry’s polite and caring nature, which he had been informed of the day before, after chatting to him about their neighbours in the lift. Or, he could drift from the subject, and tell him how adorable he was in his berry-printed little socks.

Louis’ hand squeezed over the fabric of Harry’s jeans. “I should know you, though. Just like I should know Birdie and the Sugimotos.”

Harry’s face slackened. “Oh. Don’t feel bad. It’s not like everyone knows their neighbours. We just—” Harry cut himself off, and an emotion Louis failed to identify flashed inside his expressive eyes, “We um, got off to a bad start. You and me.”

“Yeah,” Louis replied in a breathy huff, and whatever had been flashing inside the circle of Harry’s pupils was long gone. Almost as if he had hoped for Louis’ answer would’ve been different. “But we can change that,” he tried to brighten the mood, hand swiping over Harry’s leg before letting go of him. “We’re mates now. Yeah?”

Harry nodded, his nose dipping down again for another sip of coffee. Louis wasn’t sure whether the coffee-sipping had become a nervous tic, or if Harry had successfully become fully infatuated with Louis’ meager latte expertise.

“I’ve really won you over, haven’t I?”

Harry’s doe-eyes blinked. “What?”

“You’re drinking like me. Or are you doing it out of pity?”

The curly-headed one placed the latte in his lap. “It’s actually”—a smile overtook him—“a lot better than I expected. Soothing, somehow.”

Louis’ nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Of course yours is _soothing_. There’s barely any caffeine. Practically just skimmed milk and sugar.”

“There _is_ caffeine,” Harry pressed, cuffing Louis back. “At least a lot more than in a Starbucks one.”

“Well, see? You’re already getting used to the bitterness then. I reckon you’ll be drinking black with me by the fifteenth cup.”

He wasn’t sure when in the future he’d be making Harry his fifteenth cup of coffee, but he knew for sure it was going to happen. He had decided in that very moment. And since the phrase had brought out Harry’s smiles again, he knew it was dependable. Those teenage dimples carved back into his cheeks, almost as to reassure Louis that Harry Styles wasn’t unlikable, and he never had been.

“So, once you’re done lecturing me, I’ll be a bodybuilding, coffee-consuming melomaniac?”

“Melomaniac?” Louis guffawed, a sound and sight that evoked another set of infectious giggles from Harry’s side. “Is that what you’d refer to me as?”

“Do you prefer musicophile?”

A line formed in between Louis’ brows, which deepened as he spoke, his smile remaining broad and bright. “Oh, darling. You’ve gained the wrong impression of me.”

 

…

 

Harry left Louis’ place half an hour later.

They separated when Louis’ palm pushed at the door, staying flat on its wooden surface after it clicked shut. There could’ve been one of those movie-moments, like when Sarah in _Love Actually_ finally got her date with Karl, hid behind a wall and gave out her amorous emotions by silently bouncing up and down. This didn’t happen. But Louis felt exactly like Sarah.

Thankfully, Louis had remembered to give Harry the title of his favourite album.

But he couldn’t let this slide. It would be dumb to get his hopes up for an enemies-to-lovers evolution between the two of them. It was a friend-thing. That’s what Harry said. A friendship. Louis couldn’t be as excited as Sarah because Harry wasn’t Karl, and Louis and Harry weren’t in a rom-com, nor were they planning to have an erotic date.

Because Louis and Harry were _mates_. But if Louis fawned over Harry’s unique combination of naïve and sophisticated, found brilliance in Harry’s mismatching clothes, and craved to regain the amusing feeling of touching the curls at his neck, then maybe Louis didn’t match the description of a _mate_.

Maybe it was all just a big fucking mess.

 

…

 

**April, 2019**

 

In spite of his former habits, there wasn’t a scintilla of alcohol in Louis’ system the moment he arrived at Douglas’ annual get-together during the preface of April.

The arrangement of furniture at Douglas’ place was a mirror image of Louis’, but the colour scheme differed immensely. Instead of all-white, the theme was a spectrum from pine green to midnight black. Louis had zero recollection of the place. In fact, all he could recall from the previous years was deciding to go, and waking up with a hangover the following morning.

“Tomlinson,” Douglas bellowed with an arm strapped around him, the welcoming hoot somewhat stinging in Louis’ ears. “Always up for a drink, you.” Layers of the Anglo-Cornish accent coated the joyful utterance. In relation to the phrase, the man swung back and collected a full glass for Louis, which he happily accepted with a thank-you. “Make yourself at home. As always.”

Louis nodded, pretending to relate. “Cheers.” He boosted the champagne in the air. “Always a pleasure.”

First Louis took a swig out of his glass. Then he ambled inside and took a look around. Then realised. Standing in the kitchen under the misplaced chandelier in a neatly ironed, short-sleeved button-up, coarse jeans and white sneakers, Louis instantly felt out of place. Not because of how he dressed. But because grand entrances aren’t so grand when there’s nobody to actually approach. No friendly face. No familiar frame. No Harry Styles, for that matter.

Unless. Yeah. There, beside the dining table, was Sukiko Sugimoto and her unfathomably short husband. They were conversing with a younger woman whom Louis (unsurprisingly) failed to recognise. He contemplated going over for a chat—simply to attempt making up for those unsociable years they had lost—but he later decided not to.

Because by then, his eyes stilled on the large window by the balcony, where he found a much more sociable figure.

Of course. There he was. Gazing into the sunset. It wasn’t the mop of curly hair, or the passive posture that first confirmed that it was Harry. It was the bright choices of colour in clothing. In contrast to Louis’ short-sleeved white button-up, Harry appeared as a living mango from afar. It was hard to tell from behind, but it seemed that it was a pullover, and there was a lighter (presumably white) collar beneath the curls that ended in his neck. Right there, Harry had hung the strap to his digital camera.

Louis psyched himself up before inching closer towards the target. As Harry was trying to get the balcony open, Louis stilled right behind him, bouncing expectantly on his toes. Harry was struggling, hence the imprecise mutters rustling from his unsatisfied mouth. This was easily admirable. So Louis stood there, bounced and smirked while admiring Harry’s unpoetic soliloquy. The longer time went on, his vague wording grew more coherent, and Louis could finally decipher a word or two.

“Are you talking to a plant?”

Louis’ sudden inquiry made Harry flinch on the spot and snapped so that his curls swooped and dropped, his feline eyes going wide and cheeks getting warmer by the second.

“I suppose it would make sense. They are alive, after all,” Louis added, his lips curling before they mischievously puckered and got tucked away under his translucent glass.

“I wasn’t—No.” Harry gulped, and Louis lowered his champagne to the height of his navel. “The um, door handle—” His hand touched the mentioned metallic hatch and yanked it without progress. “It won’t open.”

Louis stepped forth and placed his narrow glass on the window sill, Harry skipping aside for Louis to grasp the silvery handle. Merely two seconds in, he snapped it to the side and bumped the door open with his hip. Simply because he enjoyed feeling heroic and handy when Harry was looking, Louis disregarded informing Harry that he had the same model installed to his own windows and balcony.

“You’ve got to tug it back when you yank,” Louis instructed and collected his drink between his thumb and index finger. He was yet to watch Harry’s reaction when he swept over the threshold to step out on the exterior oak planks. “For what reason did you want to come out here, though? It’s fuckin’ freezing.”

Harry joined him on the planks, Louis spinning around on the balls of his feet. The colours of warmth had began to dissolve over Harry’s cheeks, but regardless, Louis was thrilled to see them again, and yearned to witness the dimples that were currently hidden under the skin. Those, and everything else about him, had been absent from Louis for an entire week.

“Because I want to take a picture of the sunset,” Harry replied calmly.

Louis perked up, Harry sliding past him to approach the wooden barricade. By happy chance, their brief interaction had granted Louis a quick confidence-boost. Therefore, he was no longer in need of psyching himself up when wanting to stride up to join Harry, close enough to be shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Isn’t a sunset-pic one of the most mediocre ones?” Louis asked, watching Harry by his side.

Aiming his large, black digital camera towards the sky, Harry gave away a smile. Half his face was covered when he peeked into the eye-piece, rotating the zoom ring with his thumb and index finger. Louis turned to watch the target.

Two pairs of eyes weren’t enough to entirely absorb the massive variegation in the vault of heavens in front of them. In Louis’ imagination, this particular sky—even through Harry’s camera lens—symbolised the dense walls of a vault assembled by a colour spectrum with shades varying from magenta, to tangerine, to dandelion yellow. In such circumstances, Louis was honoured to be locked under the same vault as Harry.

“The mediocrity doesn’t change the fact that they’re the best part of nature.”

Louis’ lips twisted. “I wasn’t shaming sunsets. I like them, too. But I’m sure you already have a dozen of those pictures in your stock already.”

Harry’s index finger flattened down the shutter release button, and the device gave out a clicking sound. He lowered the eyepiece from his face and watched the prismatic firmament from left to right.

“I do. But it’s prettier tonight than ever before.”

“Fair enough,” Louis agreed, because he couldn’t remember ever seeing such bright colours from the balcony. “I wonder why.”

“Pollution,” Harry answered, still inspecting the spheric atmosphere to find his favourite fraction. Since Louis didn’t ask for elaboration, Harry must’ve simply noticed that he was waiting for it. “The smoke particles in the air make the colours more vivid,” he explained. “But if the pollution is higher than necessary, it’ll turn murky and caliginous.”

“Oh. That’s”—Louis searched for a word, getting caught up while pondering over Harry’s words and the authentic cadence of his deliberately slow voice and accent—“interesting.”

Another pause created a void between them, but they continued the same way; Harry watched the sky, and Louis watched Harry.

“It’ll be nice weather tomorrow,” Harry commented as a continuation, the phrase forming a subtle line between Louis’ brows. “The bright and pure colours indicate that the air is clear in west, which generates good weather in the morning.”

Louis made a face, nodding to himself. “You’re … into this. That’s cool.” A second thought followed, countless ones actually, and Louis didn’t know where to even begin. “So, photography isn’t everything you do? I mean, aside from your well-considered nighttime routine?”

This was the first time Harry looked at him in the past three minutes. And to Louis’ advantage, Harry’s lips had a slight angle, one corner higher than the other.

“You tried it?”

“Did you not listen to the album?”

Harry crossed his arms. “Of course I did. But you couldn’t possibly have completed the routine. You don’t have a bathtub.”

Louis pursed his lips, taking a sip from his champagne when he remembered he was holding it. In actuality, _everything_ except the thought of Harry seemed to have slipped his mind.

“That’s true, I don’t. But since Captain Styles told me to purchase _scented_ _candles_ , I went out and followed his orders.” Finally, Harry’s dimples popped out, and Louis felt several happy bubbles emerging somewhere deep beneath his breastbone. “Don’t gossip to the others because I’m usually frugal with hot water, but I showered for an hour while sniffing the so-called Cranberry Chutney candle.”

Harry laughed out loud, overlapping his mouth with a hand. “Oh, no. Not Cranberry Chutney, Lou. That’s not a good choice.”

“I have to agree,” Louis said, the irritation in his tone pulling another laugh out of Harry. “So, after my hour-long shower, I made myself a snack, no coffee included. Half an hour or so later, I brushed my teeth, _washed_ my face”—Harry gave him a nod—“and went to bed.”

“Two hours? No phone?”

“Yep. No screen at all, in fact.”

“How many hours did you sleep that night?”

Louis lips formed a line. “Nine.”

Harry’s whole face lit up. “See? I’m your new mental health coach.”

“Oh, you are?” Louis’ teeth appeared under his smiling lip, eyes somewhat lidded as he watched Harry from the side. “Well,” he continued and playfully bumped their shoulders together, “am I your music coach? Am I accountable?”

“There’s potential,” Harry said, and Louis grimaced. “I mean, not that I have experience in that area. It was—Well, I wouldn’t say anything bad about it. I liked the lyrics. I guess … I guess I just don’t really understand what makes it phenomenal. But that’s music in general. It never fully gets to me. Not exactly.”

Harry’s features were bathing in a chatoyant sheen, the colours iridescent as they danced over his skin in sync with his subtle movements. A tinge of orange draped over him as the most detectable layer, adding even more warmth to his amicable face. The fairest shade of light—yellow nearing white—stippled luminous lines along the cheekbones and bridge of his nose, and a precious speck at the admirable tip.

“I suppose I will have to keep trying then,” Louis answered, surprised it didn’t bother him as much as he could’ve imagined. “In the meantime, you will have to advice me on a better scent of Yankee’s. ‘Cause my entire bathroom smells like stinky raisins at the moment.”

“Oh. Lemon Lavender is always nice. Or April Showers, if you want it to match with the season.”

Louis had once again forgotten about his champagne. The radiance in Harry’s dusky, sunstruck cheeks, the intricate phrases and their essence, the rhythm and sonance of his voice—it all required all areas of Louis’ attention. There were no distractions. Not even the polychromatic heavens, which according to Harry, was prettier than ever before.

“You’re interesting,” Louis told him, soon realising how it only spoke for half of what he was actually thinking. He also noticed that Harry could easily misinterpret the words, and perceive them as negative. He wasn’t strange, or anything. He was simply fascinating.

Harry seemed to get the memo, though. Unless of course, a curved lip and mythically sparkling eyes translated into something different than delight and understanding.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Louis added seconds into their gentle, unofficial staring contest. “About photography not being everything you do. Aside from hour-long baths.”

Harry’s giggles had finally returned. “I suppose I do come across as that irregular kid who’s always hiding behind a camera.”

“You do,” Louis chuckled, but quickly elaborated to remain polite, or precise, “Well, you _used_ to.” Their shoulders were touching then; not bumping together, just touching. “I mean, I once caught you snapping a close-up picture of a rotten apple core, and I have never been able to face you the same since.”

A fruity laugh bubbled from Harry’s throat and lit up his features with bliss. “That was for an article for my auntie’s magazine.”

“Oh,” Louis said, curious. “That’s what you do?”

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugged, his wrists sloping over the barricade, “I’m only nineteen, so I don’t really have a proper job. She pays me very well, though. I’m not sure if it’s entirely legal, since we’re related.”

Louis smiled blithely. “It’s not what you want to pursue a career in?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry confessed, his finger prodding over the mango pullover to adjust the fabric at his armpit. “I enjoy taking pictures and being creative, but I feel like,” he paused, “there’s a lot more I can do.”

“I can see that,” Louis agreed, nodding and changing target from Harry to the pinkish flares above the treetops. “You seem collected. A lot more educated than myself, from what I’ve gathered so far.”

Harry was hesitant. “I dunno. I just … enjoy science. A lot of people don’t, but I do. I like … unusual things. The things most people don’t care about.”

Feeling entirely compelled, Louis turned to look at Harry again.

“Like what?”

Harry’s shoulders slouched and rubbed gently over Louis’ in the process. He wasn’t looking back at Louis, a choice which probably depended on the light tinge of pink teasing in his cheeks.

“A lot of people love animals. So do I, absolutely, but not particularly because they’re beautiful, or cute.” He was fiddling aimlessly over the settings buttons to his camera, passive but nervous as he spoke. “I like how they’re all their own kind. Sure, human beings differ a lot from person to person, but when it comes to animals, I sometimes wonder how they can even be classified within the same category of creatures.”

Louis watched Harry’s idle lashes. “That’s true, I guess.”

Sighing in defeat, Harry balanced his digital camera over the fence. “Some days, I dream of travelling across a savannah, in one of those safari trucks, in like … Zimbabwe, just to take pictures of animals.” Since Louis was still watching him, Harry looked down while pausing. “But other days, I think I want to do science. Like, research. That’d be fun, too.”

Louis’ eyes returned to the treetops. “It’s official now, Harry Styles. We are, without a doubt, polar opposites.”

Harry’s chuckle came out as a sigh. “You find boredom in everything I like, I assume?”

“Oh, no,” Louis reassured him to overthrow the sorrow that laced over Harry’s previous saying. “It’s interesting when it comes from you. I can imagine what it’s like to love science. I like animals. Not cats, though. I don’t get cats.” Harry laughed, finally looking at him. “But I’ve never thought of animals as more than what they are, I suppose. I like that you bring psychology into the whole thing, actually.”

“Because then it’s less science?”

Louis laughed gently. “Maybe.”

“I feel like,” Harry started, but paused to figure out how to phrase the upcoming sentence, “there aren’t a lot of people who like the same things I do, at least amongst those I’ve talked to.” Louis watched Harry stroke his thumb over the battery door to his camera. “So, no one really listens. I mean, they hear me. But they don’t listen.”

Louis’ smile dissolved slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Yeah?” Harry lit up like a candle, and Louis nodded with a calm smile. “Sometimes I just want to babble for hours and hours … but I can’t. Because nobody wants to hear about obscure astronomy facts, or, like, the process of luring a hummingbird into your garden.” In the brief pause, Harry’s cheeks blossomed like two camellia flowers. “Not that either of us have a garden, but you get me.”

“Right,” Louis nodded, smirk present. “Because birds have interests, too? Like, plants?”

“Yeah. All animals have interests. That’s the thing.”

“Am I the hummingbird?” Louis asked, smirk growing sideways while Harry tilted his head, smiling softly. It was soft in the best way. It seemed that this smile levelled out the smoothness of tones in his blushing cheeks, as they faded from camellia to salmon. 

“Because of music?”

“That’s a good point, but I was thinking about how you don’t have a garden. You have a balcony. And on your balcony, you watch me run by during my morning runs—“ Harry swatted Louis’ forearm, both of them laughing. Louis continued, “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re planning how to lure the hummingbird onto your balcony during breakfast. But I’m here now. The hummingbird has been lured. Even if we’re on somebody else’s balcony.”

Harry’s smile was so big that his cheeks must’ve been aching. “I hate you.”

Glints of golden sunlight shimmered over Harry’s eyelashes when they fluttered mid-chuckle, Louis’ insides brimming with heat at the bewildering sight. The mellifluous cadence of Harry’s giggles easily dominated the droning traffic in the distance, and all Louis could see, hear and think was _Harry, Harry, Harry_. And as soon as the giggles expired, Louis’ mind was on his way to track down another way to make Harry laugh.

“You know, I never did receive a thank-you card after your visit.”

Harry’s dimpled smile remained in place, eyes rolling at the comedy. “I had nothing to thank you for. All you did was try to turn me into a carbon copy of yourself.”

“Woah, Harry. Be careful with the exaggeration,” Louis said, and Harry’s chuckles exited almost silently through his mouth. “We both know you definitely did enjoy both the music _and_ my lattes. The lattes, mainly. How’s that going, by the way? Drinking any coffees at yours?”

Apparently, Harry didn’t even own a coffee machine. 

What a fucking scandal.

Since Louis couldn’t bare the thought of living without a daily intake of coffee, their conversation slid onto a new subject. Louis’ actions were fluently smooth when he let his pinkie crisscross with Harry’s on the top plank of the wooden barricade. Neither of them gave it much attention, because Louis made it seem so casual that either of them would be able to blame it on whatever else. Like the wind. Or anything that simply didn’t correlate with Louis’ desire to touch any part of Harry at all times. Because this was, of course, still a _friend-thing_.

“Now, tell me, Harry Styles. How exactly do I lure a hummingbird?”

 

…

 

Avoiding to arrive drunk didn’t save Louis from leaving drunk.

He’d been offered a bottle of tequila, which he’d undoubtedly accepted from Douglas’ clutch. As Louis collected shot glasses from the cupboard in the kitchen, Harry waited for him on the worn-out, modular couch with his spine packed into its cornered cushions. When Louis joined him, they settled thigh-to-thigh. Obviously.

For Louis, taking one shot was the beginning and never the end of a three- or four-part process. Three would be the ideal amount in order to have good fun, while four was the same, but a lot less memorable. In fact, not memorable at all.

“I don’t really drink,” Harry announced, just as Louis had poured a portion into each of their tiny, transparent glasses. He didn’t seem ashamed to admit this, which Louis appreciated. “I mean, I have only tried cider, beer and champagne.”

“Tequila is a lot different. Try, if you want,” Louis said, to make sure Harry understood it was completely up to him, regardless of how keen he was on seeing him drunk. “It usually makes me really giddy and happy.”

Louis’ kneecap bumped into Harry’s as he scooched over on the cushioned couch. To kick off the process, he then tilted the brim of his glass and let the liquid skim down the centre of his tongue. It burned when it reached his palate and throat, the stinging sensation reinforcing the pressure of swallowing.

Tilting the glass over, Louis let the stinging liquid skim down the centre of his tongue. His face crumbled when it burned his palate and throat, eventually pooling in his chest.

“It burns, though. So be careful,” Louis warned, clearing his throat as Harry collected the glass between his fingers. “One is usually enough to really get going.”

Harry gently swung the brim up while tipping his head back, his spine slouching into the backrest while his throat bobbed to gulp down the strong beverage. He blinked multiple times after looking up again, Louis’ hand cradling his knee while watching him react.

In the long run, Harry avoided taking another shot. Louis however, continued with two more. Or three. He wasn’t sure. After a certain amount of time, he was roaming around the common room, talking to strangers, ruffling Harry’s fringe and singsonging tunes that didn’t add up with the plaintive ones humming from the audio system. And the fact that Harry was retracing his footsteps like a puppy on a leash made it all so much better.

Harry’s palms were firm over Louis’ shoulders when they had reached the restroom. “Listen, Lou. I need the toilet, and you’re gonna wait _right_ here, until I come back outside.”

“You’re gonna pee.” Louis’ perpetual giggle crinkled his eyes. “Pee-pee.” He found this hilarious, but Harry’s cheeks were pinkening. “If I come with, we can cross swords, if you know what I mean.” Louis signified with his hand waving over his crotch. “With our pee-pees.”

Harry bleached, his clean-cut jaw clenching. “No. We can not. You’re gonna wait outside, and you’re not gonna go anywhere.”

The toes to Louis’ rounded sneakers tapped over the resonant wooden floors while he waited for Harry on the other side of the wall, impatient and restless. His limbs were driven by jitters. There was no possibility of requiring a composed moment of stillness, even if that meant eventually re-obtaining Harry’s company. It was taking him forever, Louis thought, which was why he began to stroll off. In the kitchen, he found Mrs. Sugimoto refilling a thick but clear glass.

“Hello, Miss,” Louis chirped, the pads of his fingers pressing into the countertop to steady his balance. The woman—who was in her thirties—wore a brocaded claret dress while her sable, silken hair was tied into a tight, braided topknot. Her beady eyes were wide after Louis had spoken, but softened by the minute. “I’m your worst neighbour, called Louis. That’s L-O-U-I-S, by the way. Sorry for not speaking to you ever.”

The childishness in Louis’ tone wasn’t something he was capable of controlling, since the alcohol seemed to have swallowed his behaviour to the nth degree.

“Oh. That’s okay,” she said, patting Louis’ tricep. “Don’t feel bad about it. Not everyone talks to their neighbour, now, do they?”

Louis, in his vaguely unconscious mind, struggled to regard this phrase. So, it wasn’t long after their conversation had ended that he started to mull over Mrs. Osborne, and how horrible he’d felt after finding out her banoffee pie was baked in memory of her deceased husband. This thought had him wandering out the wide-open front door and up the narrow, unilluminated stairwell.

Louis rung Birdie’s bell four times before he realised it was two in the morning.

Giving up hope, he ambled over to Harry’s door, flipped the woven doormat upside down and fetched the spare key from inside the folded instruction label. Somehow, this whole procedure came across as ordinary in his head. To him, it wasn’t breaking and entering. It was simply drunken Louis doing whatever drunken Louis wanted.

He staggered inside, eyes as good as sealed, disregarding to close the door behind him. His feet padded in a trail that he assumed would take him to the bedroom. A hand found the frame to the opening, his eyes blinking once to search for the light. But there was no light, because Louis hadn’t switched them on, and Harry’s bedroom windows were draped with opaque, darkened curtains.

A soft thud clacked against the floor in the soundless room when Louis’ sneakers leapt from the foot of Harry’s bed. He had no sense of awareness of his actions when he kicked out of his slacks, dropped their fabric onto the carpet, trailed his undies down to his ankles, and tore them off along with his woolen socks. The loose, homespun button-up was ripped open, buttons straining apart before clicking against the hard floors beside the carpet.

Harry’s soft linens had gone chilly under the fresh AC when Louis sunk down. Flipping over on his stomach, he tucked his ankles and calves under the comforter, sniffing dreamily into the dent his head had formed into Harry’s limp pillow. They’d been recently washed, he could tell, hence the raw scent of detergent. There was a trace of lavender, too.

Due to his intoxication, Louis didn’t pick up on the clapping footsteps from the stairwell, or the ones padding over the floors in the common room of Harry’s flat. It wasn’t until Harry came inside, gasped in surprise and plunged down in the mattress that he finally took notice. In a timid manner, Harry swathed the comforter over Louis’ arse, spine and muscular back. His fatigued eyes opened in slits, cheek still sunken down in the pillowcase.

“I told you to wait for me,” Harry whimpered, Louis’ ears detecting the sound as a newborn baby mouse. The tight pullover was so bright that he almost shone of yellow. “Why are you—What are you doing in my flat? How—How did you even get in—Where are your _clothes_?”

“You’ve soft bedding,” Louis slurred, lips barely parting as the words drifted through their cleft. It felt funny, he thought, so he started playing with his bottom lip, his index finger prodding over the flesh until it wobbled into his teeth-line.

Harry seized the end of the comforter and pulled it up to Louis’ shoulder blades to cover him up entirely. “Stay here now. OK?”

“Sleep with me?” Louis asked in a childlike tone. Though, it didn’t seem like Harry had interpreted the words in the most childlike way, hence the pinkening cheeks. Therefore, Louis patted the unoccupied space in the sheets to signify. “Lie here. Sleep there.”

Harry stared avidly. “But you’re naked.”

“I can’t wear clothes to bed,” Louis muttered, finger flying back to trace over his own lip. “It’s not comfy.”

The younger boy leapt out of his own bed, his soundless feet padding over the floors to stride towards the door. As Louis wasn’t pleased to see him do so, he heaved himself up in the sheets, shoved his messy fringe aside and rose his torso upright to have the comforter plummet onto his lap.

“Harry,” he croaked in a heavily feeble voice. The boy turned on his heel, nearly tripping on the spot when he halted to see Louis’ hairless, well-built upper body as it had been exposed by the linens. “Please.”

Louis could see Harry gulping.

“I’m taking the couch.”

The older one, who was getting sick of himself, sighed through his nostrils and bit the inside of his cheek. “‘Cause we’re _friends_?”

There must’ve been sweat under Harry’s collar, because he kept adjusting it back and forth. His breathing wasn’t controlled either. It was as if he couldn’t find the oxygen in the room, even though the air was perfectly fresh and clean.

“Yeah. Friends.”

Louis’ teeth carved deeper into the flesh of his inner cheek. “Right.”

The comfy linens appeared even colder when Louis had come to terms with the fact that Harry had left him with _those_ words, and simultaneously chosen to crash on a much less comfortable piece of furniture, instead of simply sleeping next to Louis. It was almost as if they had gone through the entire night without an ounce of progress.

No one had _ever_ turned down Louis’ naked body. Especially not at half past three, after drinking tequila.

It must’ve been an hour later that Louis heard the softest sound of feet clapping over the wooden floor, soundlessly sneaking up on the carpet at the other side of the double bed. Through lash-covered, narrow slits of lidded eyes, Louis watched Harry crawl into bed, lacking all clothes but his dark boxer briefs. There was a woolen blanket draped over his shoulders as he slid down next to Louis, leaving a space of two feet between them.

Louis’ lip had curled unknowingly.

“Thanks,” he whispered, almost in his sleep.

Harry’s eyes immediately found Louis’ almost closed ones, slightly panicky, but softening with time.

“You should be asleep,” Harry answered, voice frail and croaky. Louis admired the sound as warmth dispersed into alternate parts of his body. “It’s almost four in the morning.”

He didn’t respond. He just smiled, lazily reached out for Harry’s fringe and started playing with the curliest strand of hair.

“You know what happens the the brain when you lose sleep?” Harry asked in a tired haze, and Louis subtly shook his head in the pillow. “It starts eating itself.” A giggle seeped through Louis’ nostrils. “No, it’s true. A process called phagocytosis happens in our sleep. The microglial cells clear out old cells in the brain to reshape its wiring.” Harry paused there, because Louis’ fingers had started to massage his scalp. “But when we stay awake, the brain overuses this process, which becomes damaging. And um, that’s how it eats itself.”

Louis merely stared, his lips remaining curled.

“How do you know everything?” he slurred, the question coming off in a crooning tone.

His hand dropped from Harry’s hairline, thudding gently into the mattress between them. When there was less to focus on—less being _Harry_ , minus the softness of his curls—Louis seemed to sink deeper into the feathered pillow, just as he watched Harry’s deep green, inquisitive eyes to find the judgement against Louis’ previous question.

“I don’t know everything,” Harry replied.

“Yes, you do,” Louis refused to agree, his weightless eyelids falling shut against their delicate, cushy lashes. He felt like his breathing had never been more relaxed, the air appearing smooth and undemanding as it brushed in and out, soundless against the cotton fabric of the pillowcase. The tip of his tongue striped past his bottom lip just before he added another halcyon, harmonious whisper. “It makes me think I need you.”

 


	3. lemon lavender

 

Louis awakened to the inner surface of his cranium pulsing as if the nerves were being chewed on by the blades of a pair of scissors.

He knew it wouldn’t help, but regardless, he clawed his fingernails into his temples. Because maybe exterior pain would somewhat lessen the one that was hammering on the inside. But it didn’t, and as soon as his eyelids squeezed open, the burning sense amplified by a beam of blinding morning light.

It baffled him, how a distant scent of lavender wavered in the air. When he swallowed, though, his saliva tasted rotten. So, he shut his eyes again, groaning and rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. It smelled different. The trace of foreign detergent was draped over its soft fabric, and Louis finally understood he’d woken up in another’s bed.

For this reason, he rolled back to his previous position and forced his eyes open. The antiquated alarm-clock on the neat bedside table informed him that it was early noon. Behind the clock, there was a tall table lamp with a metallic string attached to its socket knob. The wall was painted in a pale, mint-green shade (hideous, in Louis’ opinion). It didn’t match with the old-fashioned, timbered chest of drawers that was lined along the wall, nor the framed pictures that hung in a triangular order above its countertop. The longer he stared, though, he realised maybe they did match. Somehow.

He rolled over.

A sense of pressure squeezed in his stomach just as he laid eyes on the person perched beside him. The pale yet golden skin of his slender body was exposed by the fuzzy blanket that seemed to have slid off of him, ending up merely covering his feet where he laid down on his stomach. Louis’ eyes were quick to rivet on the curve to Harry’s spine and the shape of his rounded arse cheeks, which were clothed in tight, ultramarine boxer briefs. Since Louis had rolled around in the sheets enough times to be fully aware of his own nakedness, the sight of an almost-naked Harry put immense pressure on his fast-thumping heart.

“Shit. Holy shit. Shit—Fucking _shit."_

Quieted curses spluttered out as if he was stepping on glowing embers, even though he was just skipping out of clean sheets, genitals crammed under his hands, feet slipping and tripping over white linens.

There was a disarrayed pile of the previous night’s clothes on the floor that Louis picked up in a hurried manner, using the jumble of clothes to cover up the goods, panicked, panicked, _oh so panicked._ A smudged, full-length mirror—or more so, his own reflection—scared him half to death. The previously tousled hairdo was then even more tousled, his baggy under-eyes appearing as grey as murky clouds.

Even though he was fully aware of the immense windows next to the balcony, he wasn’t exactly apprehensive while tiptoeing over Harry’s somewhat battered wooden floor, his headache beating his brainpan in sync with the speed of his tottering feet.

In all honesty, Louis never would’ve expected the flat next door to have mint-green walls all over. Neither had he ever expected that he would be shuffling his legs into used underpants in a kitchen that didn’t have a coffee machine, nor white countertops and see-through doors to modern cupboards. Harry’s weren’t modern, nor glassy. They were made out of oak, but matched the taupe shaded table- and countertop.

“A fucking idiot, you are,” Louis cursed at himself, catching his reflection again in an another dusty mirror, lopsided to some extent where it hung on a nail in the wall over an impressive chiffonier. His teeth clenched, fingers hooking around the belt loops to his fitting slacks, eventually trailing them over his bottom and crotch.

The cologne had gone stale on the collar to his button-up, so he didn’t exactly feel hygienic while slipping an arm down the left sleeve. Although, he felt even worse when his ears detected Harry’s sockless footsteps tapping over the threshold to the bedroom.

“G-Good morning,” Louis stammered with a heavy tongue, wide-open eyes examining Harry’s figure in the doorway, draped by the same furry blanket that had earlier covered his ankles. Louis’ spare hand found its way through to the cuff. “You—You good?”

Harry’s curls were chaotic before he combed his fingers through the fringe, sleepy eyes discreetly examining the skin under Louis’ loose, unbuttoned shirt. His abdominal muscles were tensing up under Harry’s curious gaze, a sheen of sweat layering on top.

“Are you sneaking out?” Harry murmured, voice soft like a baby’s. His hands tightened at the ends of the blanket at either side of his frame. “In that case, you’re not doing the best job.”

“I—I wasn’t,” Louis lied, his fingers unsteady as they attempted fastening the buttons on his shirt. “I can um, make breakfast?”

Harry’s brows formed a line between them. “No way, Louis. Go lay down. Aren’t you hungover?”

“I am,” Louis answered while doing the remaining buttons. “Christ, I really am.” His forehead creased up before his palm lapped over it, Harry’s face softening with sympathy. “Could I have, um, some painkillers?”

“Of course,” Harry said.

Just as Harry stepped forward, Louis’ heart cartwheeled up to his throat. The previous concern on Harry’s face had given him the wrong impression, seeing as Harry’s intentions were simply to stride past him, but Louis’ vividly pumping organ had momentarily assumed he was going to lean in for an unexpected good-morning kiss.

Catching his breath, Louis watched Harry as he rummaged through one of the drawers in the kitchen, right beside the circular wooden table.

“I’ve got effervescent tablets. Are those fine?”

“That’s perfect.”

Louis had ambivalent feelings about plunging down between down the cushions on Harry’s smoke-grey, padded couch. There was still no enunciated signs of the usual post-sex morning, nor anything that showed signs for anything different. It could’ve happened, and Louis didn’t see why it wouldn’t have.

The medical pill was sparkling in the water of its clear glass when Harry handed it over, sitting down beside him while still in his blanket (close, but not close enough that it would signal a desire for physical contact). Louis was starting to doubt himself until he saw the look in Harry’s eyes.

“So,” Louis hummed, the rim of his glass covering his dry upper lip. “Last night…?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed through a smile, nodding. “Quite fun, right?”

Louis swallowed the slightly sour sulfuric water, throat sore as it pooled the centre of his chest. “Fun, you say?”

“Yeah. Well, messy. It got us here, after all.”

 _Fun_. _Messy_. Those vague words were impossible to translate. And oddly belittling. If Louis would’ve given it his best shot—and he was sure he would’ve with Harry—he definitely would’ve expected more expressive adjectives. Or else he was just overly confident about his sexual expertise.

“Look, I am very sorry,” Louis started and swayed his forearm, the water rippling to allow the carbonated tablet to dissolve further. The hue of the morning light made the green in Harry’s eyes unfathomably deep. That dim light brought out the lightest specks of brown just beneath the sable pupils. “But I don’t remember how we got here.”

Harry’s impressive eyes blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Louis croaked, swallowing dryly. “It’s a complete blackout from the moment we started drinking.” He hopelessly shrugged his shoulders, which felt sore, for some reason. “This always happens when I have too much tequila.”

“… Always?”

He nodded simply. “Every year, I do the same fucking thing. At least this time I remember talking to you.”

There was still that tinge of sorrow in Harry’s mien, which had proven that it truly bothered him that Louis had forgotten.

He wondered what would happen if he were to dig a hole in Harry’s head, with a gentle hand, and take a look inside. There, somewhere behind his coronal bone, maybe he would be put in the know, be enlightened, and recall those memories that he no longer did. Or maybe he could just teleport himself in there, so that he wouldn’t damage him. Although, he was afraid this had already damaged him way beyond Louis’ understanding.

“A _complete_ blackout? Does that mean, like a block of nothing? Like, not a single memory?”

Louis was feeling worse for every second. “That’s what it means, yeah.” He stopped there, eyes drifting between Harry’s green ones and his exquisite lips. “So sorry.”

“No. Don’t apologise.”

After swallowing another gulp of the slightly metallic-tasting water, Louis tapped Harry’s knee, sliding it overtop as if to cup the cap. He was warm, even through the pilose blanket. He had no intention of doing this, but since it happened, he let the hand stay like that, fondling while Harry stared back at him with a hopeful, fixed and unblinking stare.

“Did you lure the hummingbird?”

This was the first thing that came to Louis’ mind, being one of the few conversations he could recall from the night before. Harry seemed to appreciate the phrase, hence the lip-curl and the carving dimples.

“Depends on what you mean.”

Louis drew in a short breath. “OK. I’m gonna keep this short and simple to avoid misconceptions. Did we fuck?”

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks regained the blossoming shade of the flowers on a camellia bush, one that Louis had first seen the night before, on the sunlit balcony. “No. That, we did not do.”

“Thank God,” Louis breathed out, but backtracked after witnessing Harry’s slightly offended reaction. “Oh, no. I mean—Not like that. You’re, um, I mean, you and I—” His finger waved in between them, as if to signify a hypothetical line. “We’re mates, you know?”

Harry inhaled through his nose, nodding afterwards. “Mates.”

Louis didn’t know why or how he was, time and time again, friendzoning the guy he was beginning to believe he truly _fancied_. It must’ve been an old thought surging back up to remind him that he used to despise the half-naked fellow in front of him. After all, it had been Harry who identified their first meet-up as a _friend-thing_. All things considered, everything was in the hands of the curly one.

“How did I end up naked in your bed, though?”

Harry’s one-dimpled smile appeared. “Honestly, I have no clue. You disappeared on me, and when I went looking for you, I found you like that.” He paused there, and added the next few words as an essential detail. “You were flipped onto your stomach, though.”

Louis’ brows knitted. “I broke into your flat?”

“I guess you could say that,” Harry laughed breathily while Louis’ hand continued to fondle over his knee, strangely enough. They were mates, they said. Although, Louis’ thumb couldn’t stop stroking in small, tender circles. “I’m happy it was you in there, and not some crazy burglar.”

“Of course,” Louis smiled, “I assume I stole your spare key?”

“Yeah—It’s not very well hidden, is it?”

Louis sat upright. “Harry, darling. Who on earth hides their spare key under their fucking doormat?”

 

…

 

Every wall in Harry’s apartment was indeed painted in mint-green apart from the bathroom, which had eggshell white tiles all over. In fact, that was the one area that somewhat resembled its neighbour—being Louis’ restroom—aside from the obvious private Jacuzzi in the farthest corner. It was in the shape of a quarter circle, decked with jets on each wall, and a range of metallic buttons on the rounded frontal bar.

“So, this is where you spend your late evenings?”

Harry, who had gotten dressed into a navy blue t-shirt and sweatpants, rolled his eyes when Louis watched him, smiling as he slid his hand past the light switch beside the door frame.

“I don’t bathe every single day. Just when I have the time to.”

“Well, what else do you _do_?” Louis asked, stepping over the threshold just after Harry had done so. They proceeded towards the living room, where they had already been, back when Louis had been more focused on Harry’s storytelling about their drunken experience, instead of the interior design. “Do you bake, or something? I feel like you bake.”

“Sometimes,” Harry chuckled, retraced his own footsteps and halted by his floor-to-ceiling bookcase. He fetched a book with a red-based spine. “Now that you mention it. Here’s a cookbook with baking recipes. I’m sure the banoffee pie is in there somewhere, if you want to read about its calories to be reminded of how much they terrorise you.”

“Very funny, Harry.”

A mischievous smile took over him as he shoved the manual back inside the unoccupied crevice. “Fine. Since you’re not into sugar, I guess you’d prefer this one.” Harry’s fingers traced over a broader one, which was torn at the edges. “You said you like animals, right?”

Louis read aloud, “ _The Modern World of Zoology_ ,” and chuckled to himself while flipping the hardback over to examine the close-up, monochrome photograph of an elephant’s face. “So, basically a children’s book, but dripping in bombastic writing so that adults will be less embarrassed to make the purchase?”

Harry didn’t laugh at Louis’ joke, so Louis stepped close and bumped his shoulder with his own while flicking through the first few pages, which involved animalic photographs, all seemingly captured by creative, qualified professionals.

“I’m joking, mate. This is sick.”

“You think?”

“If you’re trying to pressure me into borrowing one of your books, it’ll definitely be this one. Although, I can’t promise I’ll read it all because I’m slightly dyslexic and I hate words when they try to challenge me. These pictures are enough for me.”

There were large numbers of framed photographs on the pale-green walls that Louis had noticed earlier. On the very left, beside the bookcase, there was an avant-garde inspired one of a slender, younger woman in heavy theatrical makeup and questionable headgear. Underneath her, there was a much more simple image of bunch of tropical fruits drenched in droplets of water.

“Did you take these?”

“The bottom one, yeah. The upper one was my aunt.”

Louis’ eyes stayed focusing where they were. “Oh. This, wow.” He tilted his head, aiming attention at the pomegranate on the very left, its edge emitting a whitened glow from what he assumed was studio lights, outside of the frame. “It’s great. You’re very talented.”

“It’s practically all I do, so. But thanks.”

“Aside from science, I assume?” Louis turned, hands pocketed, eyebrows higher, lips somewhat curled. Harry shrugged his shoulders, a breathy chuckle escaping through Louis’ already open mouth. “At school, did you like maths?”

“Well, yeah.”

Louis’ then narrowed eyes returned to the colourful, artistic fruit-photography. It was creative. Louis guessed Harry had decided to pour water over the fruit, presumably with assistance, in the midst of snapping the shot. The timing had been precise, captured on point when the cascade of water smacked the surface of the fruits’ heads, splattering droplets in altering directions.

“So you’re logically smart _and_ creative. That’s unfair.”

“That probably has something to do with the fact that I’m a synesthete.”

“You’re a what?”

“I have grapheme-colour synesthesia, which means that I associate numerals and letters with colours. I do it with people, too. But that’s another type of synesthesia.”

This distracted Louis enough to draw his attention away from the framed work on the mint-green walls. Harry was focused on the bookcase, though, fingers stroking over a dark spine in the alphabetised line of books. The word _Astronomy_ was written vertically under the pads of his fingers, right beside _Oxford Learner’s French Dictionary_. Soon thereafter, he returned to the low-set coffee table to collect Louis’ empty glass and began strolling towards the kitchen.

“I’ve heard of that,” Louis conversed, following Harry’s footsteps until he reached the circular table, fetched the top rail of chair and eventually slumped down. “So, what colour is the number five?”

Harry gathered a carton of organic orange juice from the well-stocked refrigerator before filling a clean glass, an inch from the brim.

“Sky blue.”

Louis made a face. “And the letter S?”

“Dark brown. The same as a pinecone, almost. It comes off as military green sometimes, but most of the time, a dull, dusty brown.”

Louis’ fingers fiddled over the quadratic tablecloth in the centre of the wooden tabletop. “Is that my colour, too? Dull, dusty brown? Or am I sky blue, like my gorgeously captivating eyes?”

Harry sipped his from the glass, smiling all the while. “No. You’re red.”

“Red? That’s um, out there.” Louis leant back in his somewhat squeaky chair, cross-armed and inquisitive. Harry had steadied his spine against the edge of the taupe countertop, watchful and mischievous as Louis pondered over his confession. “Is it because you’ve always seen me as your grumpy, noisy next-door neighbour?”

“That isn’t synesthesia,” Harry informed him, forming the words mid-chuckle. “I could associate you with green because you care about your health, but that’s not the correlation my brain has automatically made up for me. You’re red, and nothing can change that.”

“Red seems quite disturbing, though.”

“Oh, no. It’s a rose petal red,” answered Harry after waving the half-empty carton in the air as a silent offer. Louis shook his head to decline—slightly distracted by the thought of Harry correlating his persona with a _rose_ —and Harry returned the juice to his fridge. “It’s still the kind that catches your attention, since it stands out among others.”

“That’s…” Louis’ mouth twitched at one end. “That’s nice.”

Crossing his legs at the knee, Louis tilted his head and gawked at Harry with squinted eyes while the boy emptied the residual orange juice from the glass. He found it much more entertaining to watch Harry when he was trying to avoid Louis’ eye contact, this time because he knew Harry was aware that his floral metaphor had come across as unusually affectionate.

“So,” Harry cleared his throat and slid open the unloaded dishwasher to set down his used glass. “That’s synesthesia.” There, his cheeks were as rich in hue as Louis would’ve imagined the lovey-dovey rose petals to be. “Now you know.”

Louis’ lip was on a high, curling and curling. “Well, I’ve enjoyed learning about you in depth, Einstein. Your brain’s impressive.” There was a pause there, where Harry seemed to stifle a chuckle while closing the lid to his dishwasher. “Although, I think I have to return to my crib and take a long shower. An hour long, maybe.”

Finally, Harry turned on his heel, the blossoming shade in his cheeks having dissolved just as a quirky dimple appeared on the left.

“I could give you a new scented candle, since you’re already sick of that Cranberry Chutney. I’ve one called Black Coconut that you can have, and a spare Lemon Lavender.”

Louis’ brows boosted up in the slightest. “That’s what smells in your bedroom? Lemon Lavender?”

“I would _hope_ so.”

Louis released a throaty laugh. “It smells lovely in there,” he assured him, smiling. His elbow was balanced on the arm that crossed over his stomach while his thumb grazed along the plump flesh to his lower lip, teeth smoothly grinding over the nail. “I like coconut, though. I’ll also associate lavender with your place from now on. So Black Coconut sounds great for mine.”

“What are you doing tonight?” Harry asked quickly, scratching his jaw in the meantime.

A smirk reoccupied Louis’ lips. “Are you going to ask me when I’m going to invite you over again?”

“Well,” Harry’s bare feet gently pattered over the kitchen floor as he pocketed his hands into his pale-grey sweatpants, “I figured, since it’s Saturday, and I’ve nothing planned, we could get up to something. If you um, would like to.”

Louis adored how Harry was ignoring his gaze again. “I’m stopping by the gym this afternoon for a while. That’s all I have scheduled, so yeah. I can spare you some hours, I’m sure.”

“I could go with you to the gym.”

Louis’ smile twisted. “You’re gonna take that back. I’m holding a class for young-adult women.”

“Oh. A class?” Harry’s feet clapped over the floor until he’d approached the table to sit down opposite to Louis’ seat. “I thought you were just a personal trainer. Isn’t that just one-on-one?”

“It usually is for me, yeah. Today I’m substituting for one of my colleagues who tutors groups.”

Harry sorted out his fringe. “Okay, then I guess I will just wait until you come back, and we’ll order dinner or something.”

It was pleasant for Louis to picture himself and Harry having _their_ one-on-one encounter, but at Louis’ dinner table. Maybe Harry would dress up, and Louis would silently criticise his choice of clothing and its whereabouts on a hypothetical colour spectrum. Because Harry wore terrible cardigans and alarming pullovers, but Louis had learned to like the theme.

“I suppose so,” Louis agreed before an idea surfaced and easily rolled off his tongue. “Come run with me after class. You could learn to get used to my lifestyle, while I get used to yours by getting high on Yankee candles.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, lips forming an open circle. “I don’t um … have gym clothes, or—or running shoes.”

“Don’t make excuses. You can borrow from me.”

“Er. Alright then,” Harry answered, nodding while looking like he would rather not for the following decade or so. “I’m in.”

 

…

 

Louis ran two laps ‘round the spacious public park alongside their apartment building while Harry stood bent-over, gasping for air with a palm pressed to the heavy beat of his burned-out heart. To meet Harry halfway, Louis had decided to attempt tiring out his own organs, lungs in particular, to eventually let the soon-to-be recovered Harry join the laps.

The minor problem was that Louis wasn’t even close to being worn-out, since they’d barely been jogging for twenty minutes. So once Louis approached Harry’s resting-spot by an unoccupied park bench, Louis amplified his panting and faked wiping sweat off his non-shiny forehead, simply to make Harry feel better.

“How’s that for your first run since PE?” asked Louis when Harry finally stood upright.

“Enough,” he sighed in response, and Louis laughed while patting his back, which altered into softly caressing his spine.

He hadn’t realised before forcing Harry into his gym gear that the athletic apparel would suit him so well. Harry was by no means brawny or toned, being nineteen and inactive, but his body was slender yet curvaceous, which fitted nicely under the somewhat loose activewear. Besides, for him to witness Harry wearing something from Louis’ own closet was pleasing, to say the least.

“I agree,” Louis told him, hand fondling at the small of his back before sadly letting go to touch his shoulder. “Listen, Einstein. Let’s grab some food, all right? Looks like you need hydration, too.”

“Carry me?” Harry joked, smiling lazily.

Even though he had detected the humorous tone, Louis span around, his trainers scruffing noisily over the blacktop-paved trail. He only had to arch his posture for Harry’s alarmingly vacant eyes to widen in surprise. To beckon him further, Louis extended his arms behind his back as if to reach for Harry’s thighs.

“Piggyback?”

“Oh. Erm,” Harry’s stutter tore the sentence apart. “Would you actually do that? Like, up the stairs?”

“Are you doubting my guns?” Louis asked around a smile, chin dipping over his shoulder to face him. “Trust me. They’re steady and reliable. Now hop on, Einie. I’m starving.”

Louis tried not to pay attention to the way Harry’s crotch gently grinded up against his spine when he first looped his arms around his warm, fleshy thighs and had Harry loosely encircle his arms around his neck. It was nice, he thought, when Harry’s curly-haired head would bob forward over Louis’ collarbone, curls brushing up over left temple. Yeah, Louis definitely fancied Harry, and well, everything seemed to be going in the right direction.

“Am I murdering your leg muscles?” Harry wondered, clinging on tightly. They had just reached Douglas’ floor when he asked, since they had avoided the risk of getting stuck in the lift again.

“They’re fine. There’s more pressure on the upper back and the biceps,” Louis exhaled the words, arms straining tighter as they made it up the first step of the fourth set of stairs. “As long as I get those of mine to share the same level of soreness as your lungs, we’re fair and square.”

“I’m not sure that’s,” Harry’s breath hitched mid-sentence, arms clutching harder around Louis as he adjusted his grip around Harry’s thighs, “how it works.”

“Oh, but according to my rules, it is.”

“Fine, then.” One of Harry’s clammy hands flattened over Louis’ polyester t-shirt, patting him twice right between his pecs. “Giddy-up, Horsey.”

Louis’ feet sped up over the beige, stone-based stairsteps, and Harry’s hands found their way back, intertwined over Louis’ heroically beating heart. A neighing noise came from his mouth and was soon followed by a horse-like grunt, Harry throwing his head back on a laugh while their feet secured around Louis’ hips as their bodies bobbed up and down while travelling upward.

“Good horse,” Harry said through laughter, patting Louis’ chest again. “Good job.”

“Oh yeah?” It was getting heavy for Louis, but he knew there was only one floor left, so he inhaled another gallon of air and continued sprinting ahead. “I’ll let you whip me if I misbehave!”

Harry’s laughter returned only seconds after it had dissipated. “The horse doesn’t talk, Louis!”

It must’ve slipped their mind that the walls weren’t soundproof, hence the echoing of their loud, carefree and overjoyed chatter. This sense of accidental ignorance probably had something to do with how everlastingly entertained Harry was, and how raw and exhausted Louis’ muscles were. On the fifth floor in particular, when they had reached 5B and C, Louis felt the most severe ache, like a tight clench over his lungs along with the contraction of the muscles in his solid yet tender biceps.

“Good thing there weren’t any Harries hanging around in the stairwell,” Louis spoke with widened eyes just after having placed down Harry to his feet. “If I had ran into one of those again, I could’ve dropped the one on my saddle.”

Harry smiled lopsidedly and yanked down the end of his tank. “It would be somewhat inappropriate if I were to bathe and groom you now, right?”

Louis’ nose made a sound of glee, one eye squinting.

“Somewhat.”

 

…

 

Before letting Louis go, Harry was adamant about giving him the Black Coconut candle.

Louis rolled his shoulders back under the splattering showerhead, the drenching heat pattering over his flexing back muscles. The sporty, humid scent of his body wash coalesced with the exotic coconut spice. Louis wondered whether this was why he was thinking of Harry, or if he was simply feeling lecherous after giving the boy a piggyback ride for ten sweaty minutes. In fairness, it was probably both.

For an unofficial date, rich cologne was a crucial factor. Louis put one dose over his neck, dotted some behind his ears and made sure to leave a trace on both wrists after carefully pushing his neatly ironed cuffs up his forearms. Maybe he should’ve worn a wristwatch to appear dapper, but wearing a long-sleeved button-up shirt—which he seemed to wear on most special occasions—seemed to be enough to make a good impression on Harry.

At least he was convinced his slacks were tight enough to turn heads.

 

…

 

“The delivery guy was quite fit.”

Somehow, this happened to become Louis’ chosen technique in order to discover Harry’s romantic preferences. It was a white lie, which he would benefit from by witnessing Harry’s following reaction.

“That’s your type?” Harry asked, Louis smiling to himself before taking a swig from his iced water. “Skater boys?”

He couldn’t even recall what the bloke looked like, mostly since he’d only paid attention to Harry and his adorable stutter while observing the brief interaction. So he licked his lips, watching Harry as he chewed down half of his pepperoni pizza slice. Louis was smiling again when Harry washed it down with coke.

“I lied,” Louis confessed. “Just wanted to make conversation.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s true. I am not into _skater boys_. I like—” His mouth stilled, wide-open. “Never mind.”

Harry swallowed, his eyes narrowing. “That’s lame. I thought you said we were _mates_. Aren’t we meant to be discussing these things?”

Louis’ lip tugged up amusedly. “Okay, okay.” He sipped down another gulp of water, his fingers clasping around the glass between his widely parted kneecaps. “So, my preferences.” The ice cubes clinked inside the glass, Louis’ wrist wavering as he pondered. “Where do I start?”

“Gender?”

Louis obtained a firm smile. “Male.”

“All right,” Harry said, playing with the straw to his Coca Cola. “Age?”

Setting his glass down, Louis snorted. “ _Age_? Are you constructing a dating profile for me?”

Harry tutted his tongue while cutting another slice of his pizza. “No. It’s a simple question. Do you prefer a younger or older … man?”

“Neither. As long as we get along.”

This time, Harry was quieter. He munched on his slice of pizza while Louis poked his fork into a lettuce leaf drenched in balsamic vinegar. Guiding it into his mouth, he watched Harry swing back on the couch while pondering over how to phrase the following question.

“This is a good one,” he talked in the midst of chewing. “Would you like a man who takes care of you, or a man to take care of?”

“Generally or sexually?”

Harry nearly choked on his food. “ _Generally_.”

“Easy,” Louis purred, amused by the slight shade of pink in Harry’s cheeks. “In a relationship, there’s no damsel in distress. You give and you take. Both should wear the pants; one leg each, I suppose. It wouldn’t be healthy to have one be in control at all times.”

“That’s the answer I wanted,” Harry chirped in a jolly tone before taking another bite.

“Hold on. You’re _testing_ me?” Louis chuckled, bucking one leg up on the cushion. “And I already passed? Three questions in?”

“It’s a test, yeah. To see whether or not you’re qualified to be my _mate_ ,” Harry said, Louis snorting. “I’m also curious, since I didn’t find Skater Boy attractive.”

“Neither did I. I’ve already admitted to this. I made a white lie for the purpose of seeing your reaction, so I could find out what _you_ like. Can I take over now? Interrogate?”

“Fine,” Harry answered, wall-eyed with brightly flushed cheeks. “Go ahead.”

“So. Gender?”

Louis almost lost his breath while waiting for an answer.

“Male as well.”

Popping a cherry tomato into his cheek, Louis continued, “Understandable. So, your ideal man, what are his best qualities?”

In a pondering state, Harry’s body language stilled, his eyes wavering from place to place. “He’s empathetic. A good listener. Funny.”

Louis sucked the juice out of the tomato, guiding another portion of lettuce into his mouth. He chewed leisurely, tapping his index finger over the metallic utensils.

“How does he wake you up in the morning?”

Harry’s lips formed an off-balanced smile. “He doesn’t, because that’s rude. I always sleep in and he respects that. Because he loves me.”

Louis swallowed, chuckling breathily. “You’re very determined about this, I see. Does he cook?”

“Both of us do.”

Louis accepted Harry’s answer with a affirmative nod, agreeing silently while imagining them in the kitchen together, cooking a meal for two. He figured that if they would ever approach that stage, Louis’ diet would probably make a drastic u-turn. Maybe one day they would share a bath in the Jacuzzi, after having had greasy burgers for dinner.

“All right. Let’s not beat around the bush. Appearance, Harry. Cute or sexy?”

The comical tone in Louis’ voice caused the return of Harry’s giggles. “I don’t know,” he cooed and reattached his lips to the Coca Cola glass, his nose poking into the slice of lemon balanced over its brim. “Both. An attractive man can be both. I like variety.”

“And what’s attractive to you?”

“A good smile.” Again, Louis silently agreed, an image of Harry cheesin’ with dimples on display popping up in his mind. “Kind eyes.”

 _Jackpot_. Louis was confident, but he wasn’t narcissistic. Throughout his entire life, the most common compliments he would receive was either regarding his smile or his eyes. (Or the areas of Louis’ body that Harry was yet to witness.) For this reason, everything seemed to continue going down the right path.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just describing me.”

Turning towards Louis, Harry parted his lips, his face exploding with warmth. “I was—No, I am _not_!” Louis laughed through his nose, tempting Harry to do the same. “I mean, you do have a—a nice smile, and— _No_ , you prick. I wasn’t describing you. Period.”

“But I qualify,” Louis smiled joyously, counting on his fingers, “I’m _funny_ , _empathetic,_ and trust me when I say trustworthy.” Harry rolled his eyes, Louis laughing again. “C’mon. You’ve gotta have a reasonable explanation. Why am I not dateable?”

Time stilled for seconds while Harry’s gaze moved down to rivet on his own hands.

“Because you’re _you_.”

“ _Wow_.” Louis took a swig from his iced water, brows ramming together. “That’s probably the meanest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

Chuckling breathily, Harry picked at the skin around his fingernails. “I’m not being mean. We’ve talked about this. You _know_ why.”

Every now and then, Louis wished he could time travel back to when Harry moved in. Because if Louis, like Marty McFly, could step out of a DeLorean and arrive in the past, he would make sure to make a great impression on the drop-dead gorgeous newcomer. He would offer to help Harry move the boxes into his new flat, instead of walking past without even introducing himself. Because if it hadn’t been for their failed introduction and constant trade of murderous stares, Louis was sure the two of them wouldn’t have been so determined to continue pretending that this was still a _friend-thing_.

“Yeah,” Louis sighed. “I do.”

 

…

 

The sunset wasn’t nearly as artistically sublime as the day before when they gathered on Harry’s windswept balcony.

A variety of shades were mixed in a cluster of clouds. The sight of the carnation pink dominantly washing out the primrose yellow was something Harry tried to capture with his iPhone camera. He gave up three minutes later, having had enough of the inelegance of their view.

While flicking through the photo album to Harry’s digital camera, Louis came across a species of bird in black and white with a thick beak striped in a white, horizontal line.

“The fuck is this? A mini penguin?”

“What?” Harry laughed and arched his neck to glance down at the screen, smiling after having observed the chosen picture. “Penguins are _flightless_ , Lou. That’s a razorbill. Haven’t you ever seen them on the beach?”

“I’m not sure I tend to pay attention to birds, love. Unless they’re seagulls, since they fucking piss me off.”

“Next time then. The razorbills are usually in the water, but they fly to the cliffs when they breed. They’re quite fascinating.”

“All right,” Louis answered, smile inevitable and bright as he continued to tap the buttons to examine the following shots. “I’ll remember to look for the mini penguins.”

Along the top line on the display, there were images of a greenish, itty-bitty bug from four altering angles. Beneath the first picture, there were two shots of a delicate spiral seashell, half-buried in fine-grained golden sand. It was easy to tell that he had been on the beach while taking most of these, as well as the following ones, which were monochrome pictures of a dilapidated wooden rowing boat.

“As much as I believe you could make it in science,” Louis started, and Harry glanced up, lips unfolding a subtle, toothy smile, “I think it would be a shame to let go of this”—he waved the camera slightly in the air—“because this isn’t just some hobby. You’re fucking great.”

Harry’s right dimple popped out, the almost negligible sundown igniting the slightest spark of glitter inside the pupils of his evergreen eyes.

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Louis replied, fully focused on Harry’s eyes and skin, or more specifically, how they reflected luminous twinkles and specks of warm sunshine.

This strong, long-lasting visual communication was apparently too much for Harry to handle. At least when it had continued for five valuable seconds, and Louis’ unblinking eyes had dropped down to watch Harry’s lips. In an instant, the younger one’s eyes diverted from Louis’ to the antique polaroid camera in his own hands, consequently fiddling with the buttons.

Louis sat down in one of the two padded patio chairs, still lazily clicking through the endless series of photographs stored on Harry’s camera. Image after image, he started to get used to the themes. The motives were either naturistic, or city-related. Aside from the countless animals and natural landscapes, the collection featured traffic, quaint buildings and cottages as well as numerous pictures of both powered vehicles and rusty, rickety bicycles.

“There are no people.”

Louis noticed Harry’s head snapping up in his peripheral vision.

“What?”

“You don’t take pictures of people,” he rephrased the remark, glancing up at Harry as if he would find the answer in his facial features. They were tough to read, though. Almost impossible. “Why’s that?”

Harry’s shoulders slackened. “I—I dunno. I’m not the type to walk up to someone and ask to photograph them.”

“But your mates,” Louis stated, tone shaping the phrase as more of a question than a simple expression, “or yourself.”

Small wrinkles creased up by his nose. “I guess I’m just not that type of person. I prefer material motives.”

Louis stroked his index finger over the camera, still focused on Harry and his wrinkled, pointy nose. Each little feature in his face was still bathing in the warmth of the minor sunset, sandy-beige skin appearing flavescent under the touch of the twilight dusk.

“Can I take a picture?” he asked, lips curling lopsidedly.

“Sure,” Harry agreed, forearm resting horizontally over the wooden fence. “You just have to press the biggest button. It’s set to autofocus and I’ve manually adjusted the lighting.”

Louis understood that Harry was yet to realise he had asked to take a picture of _him_ , and not just some twig from one of the trees deep below them, or perhaps the full-blown flower pot on the low-set table in front of Louis’ shoes.

“Dimples, Harry. Get ‘em out,” he said, just as he put the eyepiece in place, glancing into its miniature screen. Through the lens, he observed Harry’s reaction, which was to flinch aside and turn his head the other way while leaning over the barricade.

“That’s _not_ happening.”

“C’mon, mate,” Louis crooned, squinting his eye to see through the camera. “It’s practically golden hour. Perfect timing.”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m not photogenic.”

Louis snorted with nonchalance. “Bollocks. I don’t believe you for one fucking second.”

The younger one dipped his head back, mouth stretching in a smile to allow the dimpled cheeks Louis had been yearning for. He didn’t know whether he preferred the portrait perspective, full-face, or the excellent side-profile, when Harry’s broad, guileless grin was angled towards the late-afternoon sun. Both options were strong candidates for Louis’ first ever shot, but since having Harry turn and pose for the camera was presumably unattainable, the side-profile automatically became the final pick.

As soon as Harry heard the shutter release button click, he swivelled, darted towards Louis’ patio chair and snatched the device from Louis’ relatively loose clutch.

“No, no, no!” A firebolt struck through Louis, throwing him off the plush seat to follow Harry as he fled across the wooden porch who was tapping his fingers over the various buttons. “Harry, no. Don’t delete it. It was great!”

Harry had a sullen expression on his face while putting the image to display and zooming in on his perfectly sunlit face. The dimple was practically the highlight of the entire shot, Louis thought. It was right there in its own significance, effortlessly reinforcing the charm that already radiated through his pores. The curls were there to add the boyish grace, since Harry wasn’t Harry without the endearingly childish fraction of his vastly ripened persona.

“See how happy you look?”

Relief ran through Louis like a soothing watercourse when Harry pressed _cancel_ instead of _delete_ , hung the strap around his neck again and sighed in defeat while shutting off the device.

“I’m not letting you borrow this again anytime soon,” he muttered while securing the cap over the lens. “Not until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“If anything, you should be the one to learn a lesson, Einstein. My knowledge in photography is obviously sparse, but I think it’s safe to say this picture is the most valuable one in your collection.”

“Ah, because you took it?”

“No,” Louis was quick to deny, his candid eyes trained on Harry’s golden, reflective skin. “Because you look pretty.”

Louis was afraid Harry would spoil this brief moment of sincerity by snorting or rolling his eyes to take the piss out of the forthright comment. If he had wanted to, Louis could’ve used a more expressive adjective to describe Harry’s appearance. Maybe that would’ve made him snort, though, and Louis didn’t want a snort nor a laugh. He wanted a moment of sincerity, where Harry looked back at him while earnestly processing his compliment.

“Thank you,” the boy answered, eyes bright and wide as his fingers timidly brushed over the adjustable strap to his camera. “I actually um … liked it. The lighting was nice.”

“Could you send it to me?”

Harry’s eyes bulged slightly. “What—Why?”

Slouching his shoulders, Louis made a silly face. “Because I’m proud of it.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, still taken aback by the request. They were both aware Louis wasn’t only _proud_ , but Harry played along anyway. “Yeah. Of course. I would have to transfer the file to my laptop first. Would you want it on your phone? Or your computer?”

“Just use my Gmail,” Louis suggested and pocketed his hands, a pinch of smugness returning in his tone. “Or was that a subtle way of asking for my number?”

“I wasn’t—”

“No excuses, mate. I’ll give you my number”—his frame twisted to flirtatiously bump a shoulder into Harry’s—“and I’ll text you my Gmail address so I can have that photo in exchange. Fair play.”

“I wasn’t asking for your number!”

Louis laughed, tongue darting out to swipe past his upper lip. “I’m obviously taking the piss, love. You can still have it, though. ‘Cause I really want that picture.”

“You know what? I’ll give you mine instead. Gimme your phone.”

Midway through a chuckle, Louis unpocketed his all-black iPhone from his skinny slacks, unlocked the device and opened the contacts app. Tapping the cornered plus, he typed Harry’s title into the top bar and added the baby angel emoji next to his name, merely for the purpose of seeing Harry’s reaction.

“You’re despicable,” Harry’s frame rattled with mild laughter. He tapped both thumbs over the touch-screen, one hovering over the chosen emoji after having typed in his digits. “Was this an attempt at mocking me for my age?”

“By no means,” Louis crooned, smiling between sentences. “It’s an accurate depiction of you, since you’re a little angel.”

Tutting his tongue, Harry handed the iPhone over, turned on his heel and strutted back inside through the open door to his flat.

“Agh,” Louis sighed through a smirk, stepping over the threshold to follow him inside and close the door behind himself. “Who knew Grumpy Styles could be this endearing?”

 

…

 

Louis’ laptop and phone pinged in sync with a notification fourteen minutes after he returned home (not that he was keeping track). As anticipated, the sunkissed photograph of Harry on the balcony was linked inside and it was even lovelier within a bigger scale.

In the subject bar however, Harry had typed in:

_Exclusive! New content for Louis’ wank-bank._

 


	4. a valentine-heart

 

“ _Coffee at noon? (No thank-you cards needed.)"_

This was the fourth text Louis ever sent to Harry, on a moderately rainy Saturday morning in the middle of April.

Apparently, Harry didn’t wake up early for breakfast on the balcony on the weekends. Now that Louis knew to look for him when running past, they had made waving into a habit. Even though Louis could barely distinguish Harry’s face from down there, he could always detect a bashful little smile from afar. But this day, when Harry had been absent, Louis was desperate to see that smiley face.

The first, second and third text had been sent on Wednesday, the 10th of April:

“ _Guess who just ate an entire slice of banoffee pie._ ”

Harry had replied with, “ _Certainly not you. There’s no reason for me to believe when there’s no physical proof._ ”

“ _But I promised to! I don’t break promises, love._ ”

“ _At least make an effort and record the experience next time. Maybe post it on YouTube. You could title it ‘My first time eating sugar’._ ”

“ _Good one."_

Seven days had gone by since they had discussed skater boys and argued over a sunlit portrait of Harry on the balcony. Since then, Louis had tried his best to read through a fraction of _The Modern World of Zoology,_ simply to get ready to impress Harry the next time he would see him. Maybe today was feasible to not only do that, but also prove to Harry that he’d been burning the Black Coconut candle every night after receiving it.

The faint sound of raindrops pattering against the balcony had lulled him to sleep while waiting for Harry’s response. Since it was only a slumber, Louis startedly nodded awake at the sound of Harry’s iMessage rolling in. His blinking eyes riveted on the lit-up display.

“ _What’s in it for me?_ ”

He snorted and slipped backwards into the plush backrest to his settee, his fingers undecidedly wavering over the messaging keyboard. It took him _too_ long, maybe a minute, to think of a good response.

“ _Don’t play hard to get, Styles. We both know you’re quite fond of my lattes._ ”

A couple minutes went by.

“ _As long as there’s sugar and skimmed milk. You have one hour to dress to impress._ ”

Louis smirked to himself.

“ _I_ _suppose I’d only have to wear my gym clothes then?"_

“ _Shut up._ ”

Even in preparation for a brief moment of socialisation over a cup of coffee, Louis still felt the need to dress accordingly in order to attract Harry’s eye. Playing along was simple. It was all about remaining smug and benefitting from a sly attitude. Teasing was always good.

Now, he wondered whether it was appropriate to upgrade his flirting techniques from _passive_ to _overt_.

The following hour, Louis tidied the kitchen and slipped his muscled calves into a stiff pair of pale-blue denim jeans, cuffing them up to his ankles. Maybe it was noticeable that they never had been worn. Black skinnies had always been a first choice for Louis, but dressing to impress seemed to correlate with trying new things. He matched them with a white long-sleeved henley, since it was worn-out enough to almost appear see-through.

Hygiene: a crucial step. Cologne should be sprayed at the neck, dabbed in behind the ears and gently tapped over the wrists. Deodorant: never forgotten. The dental fraction however, was a new edition to the routine. Brushing his teeth obviously wasn’t, but flossing and using goddamn mouthwash was.

Louis was in the middle of the goddamned-part when the doorbell rang. Thus, his heart made a leap inside his chest. After carefully emptying the chemically minty liquid into the sink, he quickly dried his mouth with his face towel and hurried to the hallway to unlock the door and beckon Harry inside.

“Has it really been one hour already?” Louis uttered first thing, his eyes skimming to give Harry a once-over. He stepped over the threshold, his tacky boots tapping into the space-grey carpet. The cuffs of bright red socks were visible, rolled up over the top lines of his shoes. “Or were you eager to see me?”

A curl dropped over Harry’s eyebrow as he bent down to remove his boots. “Oh, so eager.”

Harry’s joyous tone indicated sarcasm, but Louis was sure—or at least he hoped—there was a spice of truth under the bantery surface.

Watching Harry stomp inside as if he had visited more than once was certainly amusing. He was quick to unlatch the practically hidden wardrobe on the side to make room for his beloved boots next to a pair of tattered converse on Louis’ bottom shelf. He didn’t wear a jacket nor an unpleasant pullover or cardigan; merely a plain striped v-neck in black and blue. His darker jeans seemed to be comfier than Louis’, hence the apparent stretchiness and occasional rips.

“How’s your week? Busy?”

Louis’ underlying goal was to uncover whether Harry had been unavailable for the past seven days, or unoccupied without requesting to hang out. Granted, they had texted one time, but when Harry hadn’t initiated a second conversation, Louis had gained the impression that his own feelings weren’t reciprocal. He hoped he was wrong, though.

“Very busy,” Harry confirmed and stepped inside, his adorably dotted socks padding over the wooden floorboards. “My auntie’s composing reportages for the magazine this week and the upcoming one, and I’m in charge of shooting pictures for each one. There’s a lot of pressure, so it’s quite exhausting.”

“That’s cool,” Louis commented while following him into the neatly organised kitchen. He was starting to believe he had tidied too much, since the spared effort was probably just as see-through as Louis’ henley. “What are the reportages for?”

“There are six different ones,” Harry explained, his footsteps halting as he reached the kitchen counter to use it as a backrest to lean his spine against. “The ones I’ve already shot for battled stress, bad parenting and the importance of saving energy. Next week, there’s criminality, financial overspending and motivational creativity.”

Louis reached the cornered counter to prepare the coffee machine. “Oh, wow. That’s fuckin’ heavy, mate. Are you proud of what you’ve done so far?”

“Not really. I haven’t had loads of time to plan everything. Most pictures are taken impulsively.”

“Not the most fun week, I assume?”

“Yeah, no.”

A milk carton and two porcelain cups were collected from Louis’ fridge and glass cupboard before he compressed coffee powder into the baskets of the porter filters and bottomed Harry’s cup with a thick layer of hotly wetted mocha powder.

“Yesterday was strange for me,” Louis opened with as he pressed down a button on the machine. “This one client of mine, a twenty-year-old, burst into tears when I advised her to put heavier weights on her barbell. Turned out she had terrible menstrual cramps and had been holding the tears in for thirty minutes.”

A soft chuckle puffed from Harry’s mouth. ”Poor girl. What did you do?”

“First off, I panicked.” Harry laughed. “Then I gave her painkillers and let her lie down. She asked me to sit with her and I ended up braiding her hair, since she said it would somehow ease the pain. Believe it or not, eventually, it actually worked. It was probably the painkillers, but let’s pretend it wasn’t.”

“You braided your client’s _hair_?”

“Correct,” Louis chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I know how to braid hair. I’ve magic in my hands. It just said poof, and those goddamned cramps were gone.”

“That girl must be grateful to have a magical personal trainer,” Harry played along, and Louis nodded proudly to confirm. “How many clients do you have? Do you braid all of their hairs?”

“I certainly don’t. There are five. One for each weekday. Sometimes two in one day.”

Harry’s mouth dropped. “That’s barely anything!”

“I know,” Louis said, amusedly shrugging his shoulders while lazily tapping his fingers over the countertop. “Tuesdays and Thursdays are usually when I have morning sessions, which means I’m free for the rest of the day. So Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are the busiest.”

Harry just stared. “I thought you were fully booked, for sure. Do you get well paid for that?”

“Decently. My schedule’s my own responsibility,” Louis explained. “I like having loads of spare time to do other things.”

Harry watched him as he collected the metal pitcher to skim the milk under the heat steamer in the espresso machine. The pitcher buzzed lowly into the liquid before Louis shut it off and gradually poured the milk into Harry’s cup, gently stirring his wrist until the streak reached the brim and formed an adequately neat tulip.

Louis handed the cup over with a bright smile.

“There you go, dear. Bon appétit.”

Harry sat perched at the end of Louis’ settee, his posture curled and drawn together, almost like a self-effacing little kitten. As one arm looped around his white-dotted blue socks, he crawled up even further, eyes following Louis’ figure as he minced over the carpeted seating-area to prevent spilling his espresso, which was filled to the brim.

The kitten was peering out the half-curtained windows when Louis carefully touched down beside him. There was a gentle pitter-patter against the watery glass to the balcony, but the sounds had lessened. In comparison to the week before, the outer atmosphere and its panoramic appearance was grey and dolorous.

“Did you know,” Louis started, sipping on froth as he paused and watched Harry turn his head, his curls fluttering, “that a housefly hums in the key of F?”

The corners of Harry’s lips twitched upward. “You read the zoology book?” Louis nodded, placing down the heated cup in his lap over the zipper to his uncomfortably tight denim jeans. “Not all of it, I assume. It’s pretty long.” Louis’ nose wrinkled and Harry laughed. “Is that the only fact you can remember? It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Louis’ brow arched. “Excuse me? I do in fact remember quite a lot from the five pages I got through.”

Harry’s laugh erupted at ‘five pages’. “OK. Like what?”

“That um, a slug,” Louis’ eyes lit up as he mentioned the word, mentally retracing the fact in his memory, “has four noses, and _snails_ can sleep for a whole year.”

“I see you got through the section regarding insects,” the curly one pointed out, and Louis nodded in agreement. “Although, it’s actually three years. The snail-sleeping thing.”

Louis jokingly slapped his own knee in defeat. “Damnit, Einstein. Don’t humiliate the dyslexic. That’s bullying.”

“Sorry,” Harry hummed under a chuckle, his toes curling on the couch.

Hardly anything was as endearing as watching Harry’s nose dip into his coffee cup, his lips locked with the porcelain as his hand tipped the brim over. A fine stripe of foam painted over his philtrum, which was soon rinsed of by the swift swipe of his tongue. It seemed that the feline similarities weren’t planning on diminishing in the slightest.

“Give me a review,” Louis suggested, “on the latte.”

Harry gently smacked his lips. “Is there less mocha this time?”

“Of course. You’ve gotta learn.”

Louis watched Harry’s throat bob, swallowing to presumably require a clearer perception of the taste. His green eyes soared to the ceiling before they returned to Louis’ watchful pair.

“I can’t tell the difference, but I like it.”

“Perfect,” Louis crooned, tone chirpy full with pride. “I reckon you’ll be able to take an espresso quite soon. You’ll be my barista-buddy. I can teach you how the machine works, some time.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s lips tightened, a dimpled smile growing. “Maybe.”

 

…

 

One hour with Harry wasn’t enough.

Apparently, he was feeling apprehensive about the upcoming week and wasn’t in the mood to hang out for as long as Louis would’ve wanted. And since Louis would always sympathise with Harry, he had no desire to argue against him the moment he mentioned leaving.

The absence of rain crammed Louis’ entire flat with stillness. Somehow, he ended up on the piano stool, without ever really planning to. It was the key of F that clinked from time to time, Louis’ hand occasionally flattening down over the white-striped board. He was mentally lethargic, aimlessly gawking into the wall in an inactive trance. Thinking of Harry, thinking of Harry, thinking of Harry.

Eventually, he was reactivated by blinking down at the synthesizer to regain his conscious awareness. Each and every emotion flooded through his blood vessels, converged in the nerves in his fingertips and cascaded over the white keyboard, gradually developing a melancholic yet oddly mellifluous consonance.

_Thinking of Harry, thinking of Harry, thinking of Harry._

 

…

 

Louis had finally come up with a reasonable excuse to pay Harry a visit. Five hours had passed since he’d seen him last, yet there he was, ringing Harry’s outmoded doorbell with _The Modern World of Zoology_ perched under his arm. The excuse was of course to return the book, as if he hadn’t planned to read another few pages.

However, Louis hadn’t expected for Harry’s eyes to be bloodshot when he appeared ahead of him to answer the door.

He hated how unpleasant it was to see Harry’s face lifeless and despairing with no boyish dimples nor infectious giggles in sight. This sorrow, though, seemed to be just as infectious. His usually glowing skin tone was then pallid, which made Louis’ stomach tighten in an a firm, displeasing knot.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, concern flattening out his features. This was the first time his opener had been an actual greeting-phrase. He probably should’ve said something else, but at this particular moment, he was nearly speechless.

Harry frame seemed to shrink. As if he didn’t want to be seen.

“What are you doing here?”

Louis’ knot tightened further. “Oh. Erm, sorry. I should—I can leave. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Harry interrupted him and stepped forward, dotted socks barely overlapping the threshold in between them. “That’s not what I meant. I was just … wondering.” Louis’ heart ached at the sight of Harry wiping his eye with a sweater-paw. A nice sweater, for once. Maroon, and baggy on him. “Well?”

“I forgot to give this back,” Louis explained, reaching the book out, elephant print facing the ceiling. He felt bad, even though it was only a white lie. Maybe he should’ve read it all, too. “Thought you’d miss it.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, accepting the copy before casually hugging it close to his chest. “Well, thanks.” There was a short pause, where Harry sniffled and bounced gently on his toes. He blinked, eyes swollen and curious.

“Do you want me to come inside?” Louis asked finally, hands pocketed into his goddamned denim jeans.

“Yes,” answered Harry, almost at once. “Please.”

Harry had a shoe rack. It was a hand-me-down, it seemed, judging by its shabby edges. Withal Louis relished the sight of his own stainless, high-topped sneakers perched in between Harry’s black and brown boots.

“I should’ve texted you before coming over,” Louis said after standing upright and following Harry into the common room. The younger boy marched towards his well-stocked bookcase and put the borrowed one back in place. “I just didn’t think you’d be using your phone within two hours before going to bed.”

The smallest curve found Harry’s lip. “Then you were right.”

“Are you going to bed, by the way? Am I disrupting your routine?”

“No,” said Harry softly, voice wavering on the brink of delicacy. After turning, he slowly retraced his own steps, then reapproached Louis with a three-foot distance. “I was um, trying to take photos, and it didn’t turn out the way I wanted.”

Louis was slow and hesitant before asking. “Is that why your eyes are all red?”

“They are?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed gently, hands pocketed once again. He stepped closer. “You can tell me about it. It’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Harry’s couch was springier and more cushiony than Louis’. He had decided that he preferred it over his own, but perhaps this depended on how close him and Harry were sitting now, compared to earlier. It must’ve been the earnestness of Harry’s storytelling that brought a sense of unanticipated intimacy to the scene. Things happened out of the blue. Like Harry’s pleading eyes when he asked for an embrace. Or Louis’ hand, and how it almost unconsciously fell to fondle at the small of Harry’s back.

“It’s pathetic. The theme is motivational creativity, and I’m not motivated, nor creative. I can’t think of _one_ original idea.”

“No,” Louis cooed over Harry’s shoulder, arms tightening around the younger boy’s slimmer figure. “That’s not true. You’re creative.”

Harry carefully let go of the hug. “Not right now.”

As a reflex, Louis adjusted Harry’s lopsided collar. “You have days to come up with an idea, though. Please, don’t stress too much.”

“It’s just frustrating. This topic was supposed to be the _easy_ one.”

Louis loosely grasped ahold of Harry’s fingers, his thumb stroking along the knuckles in the most subtle way. It was supposed to be soothing, but Louis was pretty sure he had made Harry’s heart speed up a nudge.

“You know what? I’m free tomorrow. If your thoughts are still stuck by then, I can help you come up with something. I may not know shite about photography, but the least I can do is try to help you shoot.”

Louis couldn’t really tell, but it looked like Harry’s eyes were starting to water again. They must’ve already been stinging, and Louis was afraid another set of tears would make them ache even further.

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course, darling. It’s this gut feeling. I can’t stand seeing you like this, so I’ve got to do something, right?”

Harry’s face softened. “That’s kind of you.”

This time around, it was Louis who prepared an effervescent tablet for Harry. It was easy to localise Harry’s kitchenware, he noticed. Every drawer was neatly organised and the glasses were perfectly lined up and sorted by size and style. Louis prepared a tall glass for Harry, which he remembered him using when he had ordered pepperoni pizza. He made an effort to make sure the tap water was as chilly as it could possibly get before filling the glass an inch away from the brim.

Harry had moved to the bedroom.

It was exactly how Louis remembered it. The walls were just as mint-green as in any of the remaining rooms. Harry was sunken down in the white linens, fiddling with the manual, old-fashioned alarm clock at his bedside table. The scent of lavender was the most detectable in this room, since the candle was placed on the tabletop to the timbered chest of drawers lined up against the wall beneath three picture frames.

“Here you go,” Louis said in the softest tone, sitting down at the side of the bed, his bottom sinking down into the pillowy mattress. The glass was fizzing when Harry accepted it by hand and tipped it over to allow some of the water between his pale lips. “Drink this whole thing and I’m sure you’ll be feeling great soon.”

“Thanks, Doctor Tomlinson.”

Louis’ lips curled. “Anything else you need? A full course meal? Another Mocha with extra sugar?”

“I’m fine,” Harry chuckled after swallowing another gulp. He had changed from ripped jeans to comfy, baggy sweats, and Louis kind of felt like putting his head between those thighs.

“I guess I’ll head home then.”

Harry’s bottom lip dropped in a pout. “Actually, I would like some cuddles.”

Louis’ throat seemed to tighten. “Cuddles?”

“Just for a while maybe,” Harry said and timidly tapped his fingers against the glass, brave enough to at least still look Louis in the eye. “If I sack out, you can leave.”

“All right,” Louis agreed, attempting to come off as less ecstatic than he actually felt by loosely shrugging his shoulders and lazily crawling into bed to settle saggily beside Harry’s svelte frame. “Make sure to drink that first, though. I don’t want to get spilt on here.”

Harry giggled into his glass, halfway there.

Once the finished glass was abandoned upon the nightstand, Harry shuffled aside until his spine was lined up under Louis’ sturdy, crooked arm, part of his back subtly overlapping Louis’ torso. Harry’s head of curls was dipped into the hollow space of Louis’ armpit, where Louis’ elbow could perfectly loop around his head to let his fingers passively play with Harry’s droopy fringe.

“Am I comfy enough for a pillow?”

Harry’s eyes fell shut, smile returning. “You are. Very warm, too. Super nice.”

“I’ll be your radiator, dear. No worries.”

There was significance to this stillness, and not like the stillness that had occurred after the rain, when Harry had left Louis’ flat. This was quiet in the most delicate way, because if Louis focused his ears, he was even capable of hearing Harry’s heartbeat. It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t slow. Somewhere in between.

Louis couldn’t imagine Harry’s heart as an anatomical cluster of chambers and coronary arteries. To him, this heartbeat belonged to a valentine-heart. It was healthy, practically untouched, but yearning for melodrama and enthralling tragedy. The least Louis could do was hope he was right, and that Cupid was yet to fire a romantically enchanted arrow through Harry’s cardiac organ. If there really was a winged, erotic love-God up there, he wished that the arrow would strike Harry’s heart when Louis was around.

“I heard you playing before.”

“What?” Louis exhaled, completely out of it.

“The piano. You forgot to plug in your headphones.”

Louis’ throat went dry at the thought of Harry listening to him experiment. “Oh. No, I—I didn’t forget. It was, um, I tried something new. To appraise the acoustics of the room.”

A beat passed, the softest breath of Harry’s puffing into the fabric of Louis’ top. “I didn’t realise you’d be so artistically good, in like, a classical, elegant way. Sounded like Mozart had moved in next door.”

“I’d like to think my creations are a bit more modern than an overrated dead guy from the seventeenth century.”

“ _Creations_? That was your own piece?”

“Yeah,” Louis swallowed dryly, his eyes soaring to watch the white ceiling. He blinked to himself. “It’s just emotion. Like, putting emotion into the keys. It’s how I deal with things, I suppose.”

“It was quite a sad tune,” Harry pointed out, drawling the words languidly in his tired daze.

Louis’ eyes dropped to watch Harry’s toes as they curled up against Louis’ ankles. The tiniest smile overtook him as he once again detected the sound of Harry’s deep, suddenly slow heartbeat. His nostrils were magnetically drawn to Harry’s curls as they emitted the subtle, fruity scent of his lovely shampoo. He figured it must’ve been washed in preparation for their unofficial coffee date.

“It tends to come off that way, the piano. It’s not always as depressing as it may sound, though. A dreary melody might as well involve the most joyous, beautiful thoughts. The emotion’s in the fingers. Not in the range of tones. Sometimes it’s the tempo.”

A slow, silent second passed.

“I guess, what I’m saying is: if you hear me play again, don’t analyse my mood based on the tones. There’s a lot more to it than that.” Louis’ eyes had stayed focused on the white-dotted socks that hugged around Harry’s feet as they fondled against the sheets, occasionally bumping into Louis’ heel. “It wasn’t sad, in my head. Just, emotional.”

“Sad doesn’t mean dreary,” Harry cleared up in a sleepy hum. “It wasn’t boring, or anything. I thought it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

Louis inhaled briefly, gaining another trace of the fresh, pleasantly sweet scent of Harry’s hair. It made him notice his fingers had slackened inside the strands of Harry’s fringe. He made the index- and middle finger twiddle again, slow and passive over his hairline.

“I don’t have menstrual cramps,” Harry said, his sweet breath creating a warm patch somewhere near Louis’ pec, “but could you braid my hair?” Louis’ jaw shifted gently against Harry’s scalp as he watched the boy’s heavy eyelashes from above with a smile curling at one end. “Maybe it could help me fall asleep. I would love a slumber.”

“Of course, Einie,” Louis crooned. “Just don’t sleep for three years, like the snails, ‘cause I’d quite like seeing you again tomorrow.”

A giggle seeped from Harry’s nose, and Louis’ lazy fingers walked along his hairline to find the longest, curliest strands of his floppy, delicate fringe. They uncurled at the lightest tugs, looping around his thumb and pinkie as he combed them through. Both hands were fiddling over the hair to interlace one longish wave with a second one, tying them both together with a third. And once those three were twined, Louis repeated the process four or five times.

“The strands aren’t long enough,” he whispered.

“Just do this,” slurred Harry in a contagiously drowsy tone, “I like this.”

Louis tried his best to be gentle on the hand, passive and perfectly sweet-tempered. He pictured these actions to be dove-like, similar to how he’d found Harry’s subtle toe-fondling. Playing footsie probably would’ve been too out there. Maybe Harry would’ve liked that, though. Nonetheless, he had asked for braiding, and Louis put in all effort to keep him satisfied by making sure not to tug too hard, and startle Harry’s now softened heartbeat.

He hadn’t at all planned to fall asleep there. That was the truth. But when Harry’s breaths grew heavier with his lips smooth against Louis’ rib cage, fighting the urge of crashing was as good as inaccessible. Even in those stiff jeans, that he still wondered whether Harry liked or not, since he’d only worn them for the sole purpose of flaunting.

Regardless, this was where he’d successfully ended up; dozing off in another’s bed, with a sleeping Harry perched in his armpit.

 

…

 

Louis’ limbs hadn’t felt this tender and cramped after a good night’s sleep in a _long_ time.

It wasn’t the tolerable, feel-good type of tenderness he would experience after a propitious workout, nor the rough yet satisfying post-sex rapture. No, this was the aftermath of sleeping stock-still, fully clothed with another’s body thrusted onto his ribs.

Harry’s curls were no longer draping Louis’ nose and cheeks, since Louis had gradually dropped down to the height of Harry’s face. His nose was resting on Harry’s collarbone, the warm and musky scent of the nineteen-year-old’s overnight body heat whiffing Louis’ nostrils to start off the day. He sniffed the smell to gain more before really noticing what was going on and rolling his neck backwards. He tipped over, opened his fatigued eyes and observed the state of their current situation.

In the most cuddly way, Harry was dozed off, his feet curling up to his legs. He still wore the striped v-neck from before, his maroon sweater having been discarded at the end of the bed. The curls were all tousled after Louis’ attempt at braiding, the baggy sweats having strained tightly around his crotch and plush thighs. Harry’s lips were pink. The type of pink you would only belong to artificial objects. Soft puffs of air pushed through his nose every so often, and Louis carefully replaced his face over Harry’s bony shoulder to regain the feeling of being cheek-to-cheek, without disturbing the relaxing sounds of Harry’s breath. It was in his ear then. Warm and calm. Soothing.

“Not to be a brat,” an even warmer breath puffed into Louis’ ear, whisper appearing the clearest at the sharper consonants, “but I would’ve expected you to wake me up with a breakfast-tray and a lovely Mocha Latte by now.”

Louis purred there, delighted to hear Harry speak without a trace of awkwardness despite the state of their unusual, tangled-up cuddles. It appeared that Harry seemed to enjoy their experimental snuggling, hence the motion of looping the bridge of his sock-clothed foot around Louis’ ankle.

“You don’t have an espresso machine. Can’t even call you Einstein there. The nickname doesn’t work when you’re being stupid, you know.”

Harry’s hand, which had previously been hanging loosely over Louis’ waist, flattened over his spine, brushing upward, the motion lifting the hem of Louis’ white, wafer-thin henley. The lightest gust of crisp air from the AC skimmed underneath the fabric as Harry’s palm left a print of warmth at the small of Louis’ back. A blissful hum buzzed from Louis, his remarkably soft lips vibrating into Harry’s neck.

“Sorry for ruining your nighttime routine,” Louis said around a soft chuckle. His voice and facial muscles softened while he thought of the next thing to say. “I mean, apparently braiding is also relaxing for the person doing the braids, ‘cause I fell asleep without meaning to. Maybe because you’ve relaxing cuddles”—momentary giggles fluttered against Louis’ earlobe—“or because your bed is comfier than mine. Regardless, m’sorry.”

“Are you apologising for helping me fall asleep? This was much better than my actual routine.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled. “That’s not true. I’ve a feeling you’re anxious about not brushing your teeth before going to bed, nor exfoliating your face and reading, like you normally do.”

“Stop overthinking.”

“All right. That I will do. There’s no chance I’ll be having my morning run today, I assume?”

“Jesus _Christ_. I’m pretty sure it isn’t even past _seven_ , and you’ve already spoken about two-hundred words. Just shut up already,” Harry muttered, and a bubbly chuckle surged through Louis’ stomach, stifled by his sealed lips. “I’ve sensitive, stingy eyes in the morning. Can’t be awake. Another hour should be fine.”

Louis felt an urge to let his mouth pucker up against Harry’s pillowy cheek, release in a decent peck or kiss, whatever that would be considered as. He didn’t do that though, because Harry still hadn’t addressed their friendship-relationship status. This was a shitty excuse, and Louis _felt_ shitty, too.

“Jeez. Forgot you were still a moody teenager. You just swore, by the way. You never swear.”

“That’s because I’m grumpy. Not a morning person. Also, please don’t call me a teenager. You once said I was very mature.”

“You are mature. There are two sides of you, though. One’s the scientific, eloquent, reflective one. The other’s just the small one.”

“The _small_ one?”

“The one with the funny socks, jittery stares, endless sugar-cravings, _interesting_ fashion choices—“

“What _about_ my fashion?” Harry muttered and kicked his toes into the arch of Louis’ foot, tone coming off as offended due to his barely-moving lips. (Very endearing to Louis, though.)

“Can you even call it fashion?”

Harry gasped against him. “You just did!”

“Moving on,” Louis cooed, chin still heaved over Harry’s shoulder. He adjusted the position slightly, his flesh snugly rubbing over the shoulder of Harry’s cottony t-shirt. “You’ve funny socks. I said that already. I like your socks.” Harry’s pinkie toe grazed along the sole of Louis’ foot. “I also like … how you claim not to be a morning person, yet you wake up before six-thirty to watch me run from your balcony. How come”—Harry’s toes kicked harder into Louis’ foot, Louis laughed—“Ow? Oh, _Einie_. How come you’re not out there now? Savouring the glorious fresh air? Sipping chocolate milk through a polka dot straw?” His nose scrunched, nudging into Harry’s neck. “S’cause I’m not gonna run past, isn’t it?”

Harry’s sighed and dumped his jaw down on Louis’ collarbone, though Louis could _hear_ his smile.

“Your ego is too big for your own good.”

“Either it’s that,” Louis said in a high voice, “or it’s something else. Sorry to say this, but I’m usually very right.”

Another happy sigh came through. “Whatever happened to napping?”

“Right,” Louis huffed, “Right. Napping. One, two, three. Falling asleep again. Louis’ voice: no more.”

Harry laughed around a yawn, the drawn-out, tempting sound almost triggering Louis to do the same and the warm breath of Harry’s exhale gusting over his temple and fuzzy sideburn.

“You’re such a fool.”

 

…

 

“Isn’t paint rather expensive?”

“I’ve no idea,” answered Harry, who was whirring a flat, medium-wide paintbrush inside a glass of water, the wooden shaft clinking against the clear edges. “This palette I received as a present from somebody. Ages ago. Honestly, I don’t care if I run out.”

It was noon already when Harry’s mind had fortuitously stumbled upon a relatively original idea for the article with the theme _motivational creativity_. The concept was to have Louis as a motive—which had been Louis’ own suggestion—and use face paint to slather his cheeks, nose and forehead in each and every diverse colour from Harry’s stainless, kaleidoscopic palette.

The beige-brown, shaggy carpet had been rolled aside into the shape of a pipe to make room for Harry’s private, make-believe painting workshop. A kitchen chair was used as a workbench to mix shades onto a stiff cardboard sheet, while the colour palette and Harry’s sundry paintbrushes were lined up beside its metallic legs. Beside this gear laid Louis, supine against the wooden floor. He was relaxed, watching Harry prepare, hand slack over his billowy chest.

“If my skin re-experiences puberty after I’ve washed this off, you’re to blame. Just so you’re prepared for the potential penalty.”

“Oh?” Harry’s lips disjoined at a brief chuckle, fingers tapping the wetted paintbrush against the brim of the glass. “It’s sort of your own fault, though. You willingly volunteered to be my personal model.”

“And _you_ promised to read the label to double-check that I’m safe.”

“Exactly! I _have_ read it, and you _are_ safe.”

Harry dotted the toe of the brush into the grassy green pan, swirling it firmly in a circle to obtain a load of the thick, slightly syrupy colouring. As soon as it was gathered onto the bristles, he shuffled forth on his bottom, gently placing one hand under Louis’ jaw as support. Louis smiled. A quiet smile, joined by crinkly eyes that scanned over Harry’s boyishly excited face. Just as the wet bristles swiped from Louis’ forehead to his temple, Louis’ nose wrinkled.

“Ow. That’s _cold_ ,” he muttered, smiling all the while. “Could’ve been more relaxing with warm water, Big Brains.”

“No. That would’ve been yucky. Think of this as a face mask.”

Louis’ giggle seeped out of his nostrils, lashes fluttering. “That’s such a you-thing to say. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“Could you not look at me while I do this?”  
  
“What?” Louis released a breathy laugh, his belly flopping. “Why?”

“I just don’t want you looking at me.”

His eyes featherly fell shut. “Fine, Grumpy.”

A beat passed, and Harry skimmed the belly of the brush along Louis’ jaw, which clenched at the sudden touch. It seemed that Harry didn’t exactly have an outlined strategy for the procedure of transforming Louis into a human rainbow. He simply dabbed and grazed the painted whiskers over his features, gestures appearing gentler around sensitive areas; the under-eyes in specific.

“This actually looks really great. The purple is gonna look really vibrant through the lens. Yellow’s perfect, too.”

“When can I open my eyes again?”

“Oh, all right. You can look now.”

Louis’ lids almost clicked open, blinking languidly to make his pupils become accustomed with the abrupt change of lighting. They found Harry shortly, softening and narrowing to form their charming crinkles again.

“Oh. We need blue. To match with your eyes.”

“Of course. What about rose petal red to match with my personality? D’ya have that?”

The same colour as the one mentioned, or perhaps a couple shades milder and fainter, painted artfully over Harry’s cheeks by dint of the delicate blood vessels under his dimpled skin. He turned away, soaking the yellow paintbrush in the brownish water and smudging the bristles into the bottom of the glass. Once it was somewhat clean, though Harry’s face was still flaming, he dipped the toe of the brush into the intense, azure pot and wriggled it fixedly.

“You’re not allowed to look anymore.”

“Argh, Harry,” Louis cooed haughtily, laughing as his eyes fell shut. His lids and lashes fluttered when Harry’s brush spread the bright blue paint from the side of his nose to his cheekbone, thereafter filling in the spotless space of his under-eye. “I’m doing volunteer work, contributing as your personal colouring book, and I don’t even get to look at you in return?”

“Quiet,” Harry demanded, still blushing. “All the dried paint will crack if you speak more.” Louis did as told, his lips curling. “That, too.”

“Well, I can’t _not_ smile. It feels funny.”

“Quiet!”

Soon enough, Harry was onto the fifth colour, smearing cerise along the bone in Louis’ jaw and striping it back up over half his cheek to line it up next to the vibrant green at the temple.

“I’ve an idea,” Louis whispered, mouth practically motionless.

“Go.”

“Put paint on my torso.”

Harry’s arm slackened, brush-strokes halting. “Your _torso_?”

“Potentially my arms, too.”

“ _Why_?”

“‘Cause it would make a better photo. Aren’t we taking multiple shots? You could have one close-up, and one head-to-waist.”

Harry tutted his tongue. “You’re just looking for an excuse to show off your muscles.”

A smirk grew on Louis’ lip. “It’s not an excuse. Just an honest attempt at helping your auntie out with the publicity.”

Harry hesitated, but Louis knew the boy had already agreed the moment he’d given the suggestion.

“Fine. Take off your shirt.”

“Woah.” Louis’ fingers fiddled over the two lonely buttons to his collar. “How demanding.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

In some magical way, Louis managed to shimmy out of his henley without smudging paint on the inside of the buttoned collar. He made sure to flex, because if this was the only memory Harry was going to have of Louis’ abs—apart from the time he had woken up hungover in Harry’s bed—he needed this memory to be a good one.

”Now, it’s your responsibility to clean up in case you end up drooling over my abs, ‘cause I don’t exactly feel like touching your saliva with my fingers.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Pleasant shivers gushed down Louis’ spine when Harry swiped paint between his pecs. Considering how up-close Harry was to Louis’ body, he hoped he smelled decently after sleeping in yesterday’s clothes. One thing he noticed was Harry’s adoration when he stroked the bristles over the firm nubs of Louis’ nipples. His pecs strained under the cold grazes of the brush, which made Harry’s cheeks darken with blush.

“OK. I think I’m done,” Harry said when his face had finally regained their usual golden shade as he brushed the last stroke of purple over Louis’ wrist.

“Awesome,” replied Louis, who had an itchy nose that he refused to scratch. He sniffled, thinking it would help. “How long will this shoot take? I don’t think I’ve ever felt the urge to shower this much before in my life.”

“Quit complaining. If you’re a good model, it’s gonna be quick. So just behave, and follow my orders.”

“Wow. You’re an angry kitten today. Feel like I’m getting pissed on every time I say a word.”

Harry sighed through a smile. “That’s because you’re being smug and conceited. It’s disturbing.”

“Nah. You like my banter. It makes you blush.”

Another sigh followed. “See? Smug fuck.”

Louis’ brow arched, neck tilting. “What’s with all this swearing? It’s like we’ve entered an alternate universe. Where _am_ I?”

Two images into the shoot, Harry was smiling like a fool. Louis followed all instructions. ‘Tilt your head—no, not like that—go further left—look up—don’t look so serious—ugh, don’t get your tongue out, this is a professional photoshoot and you look like crazy-phase Miley Cyrus’. The funny grimaces, which all had Harry laughing, were mostly improvised for that exact reason. Louis wasn’t really looking to make the shoot go by quickly so that he could go to the shower. In fact, he was trying to extend it as much as he could without annoying Harry.

“OK. I think we’ve got three strong candidates.”

“Can I get up?”

Louis stood upright after Harry’s nod of approval, paint cracking slightly as his muscles coiled at the change of position. After stepping close to peer down at the display of the digital camera, he nodded to himself and told Harry to flick between the three.

“This has got to be in there,” said Harry after halting on a close-up shot of Louis’ multicoloured face, where his eyes were darting diagonally upward, crinkling as his teeth showed a toothy smile. “It’s fun and genuine. It shows the motivational side, since it’s happy, while the less smiley ones focus more on the creativity.” He tapped to the next shot, which was head-to-waist, where Louis’ eyes were closed and lips slack. “See, this. It’s a reflective one. More philosophical. I like that.”

“Agreed,” Louis said, amused. “Third?”

Harry’s ending choice was another close-up, focusing on Louis’ eye—which was bright from the studio light Harry had angled from above—and the bright yellow and blue paint surrounding the eyelid, under-eye and barely visible eyebrow.

“Is this a weird one? When I put them in Photoshop, I can crop it and make it better. Maybe it should be vertical instead of horizontal? To mix things up?”

“Mate, don’t ask me. Whatever you do looks great.”

A sigh puffed through Harry’s nostrils. “That’s an easy detail. Please. Anyone’s opinion matters, even if you’ve zero experience. Vertical or horizontal?”

Louis shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. Vertical should be fine. I’m sure it looks lovely. It’s me, after all.”

Harry gave Louis a stern look, which Louis responded to with a sly grin.

“I’m banterin’. It all looks great, because you’re a lovely photographer,” Louis corrected himself, his face softening as he bumped his clean knuckles into Harry’s shoulder as a friendly gesture. “Great job on everything. No more tears, all right?”

A hint of adoration showed in Harry’s eyes, which was shielded when he looked back down at the camera.

“No more tears. All right.”

Louis sniffled, nose itching again. “Finished, yeah? I can wash everything off?”

“Sure,” answered Harry while stepping over to the rolled-up carpet, his toes kicking at the fabric to unleash the weight and ease his feet down until it slid back in place. “Go shower. I’ll do the cleaning up in here.”

“You sure? I can come back and help you out.”

Harry looked up, shaking his head. “It’s not a lot, Lou. You’ve helped me enough already. It was um, very nice of you. Really.” He kept blushing and blushing. Louis hoped spending the night together hadn’t made things weird for him, considering how much he himself had enjoyed it. “I’m very, very thankful.”

“No probs,” Louis chirped, stepping back in what seemed to be a never-ending trail. Just when Harry crouched down to toss over his shirt, Louis noticed he’d left it behind. “Oh, thanks.” He caught it between his clean fingertips, smiling toothily again. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Harry nodded, hands still fiddling over his camera while watching Louis ease backwards into the hallway.

“Yep. Bye-bye.”

 

…

 

Louis’ worst habit was overthinking _everything_.

There wasn’t a prismatic hue in the swirling water as it gathered to get sucked down the drain, the heavy droplets from the shower head pattering against its metallic cover. The colour was duller than Louis would’ve imagined, since the yellow didn’t mix with the blue to make green. There was already a murky green in there, but it was mixing with purple, while purple ruined the sheen of the yellow. After minutes, it had all fused into a scummy, greyish shade of brown.

Something with Harry was off.

For some reason, Louis was struggling to believe photography had been the only reason Harry’s eyes were bloodshot when Louis had come over. Analysing the situation was difficult. Them spending the night together and snuggling in the morning had given him high hopes, which had all fallen miserably only a couple hours later.

Shedding tears of frustration in the shower wasn’t exactly Louis’ proudest moment. And neither was jerking off to the depressing memory of sniffing Harry’s body scent.

The hairdryer was broken. It was activated on full power for twenty seconds before it shut down and Louis pulled the plug out of its socket in frustration.

Rubbing a clean towel over his scalp, Louis watched himself in the full-length mirror. At least he never struggled with body confidence. He had zero reason to, hence the worked-up muscles he’d built up over the years, the commendable curves, and the slack cock that hung between his hip bones, dangling heavily with every moderate movement.

His newly clean face was red and puffy from the firm scrubbing and the heat from the shower. Tiny specks of paint were scattered here and there over his torso, some of which peeling off after the touch of the towel.

The sexual frustration was _high_.

These past few days, it was practically all he ever thought of, when it wasn’t work or music. One second he was on the couch, imagining Harry straddling him down to bounce his cute little bottom against Louis’ raging crotch. The next he would be cooking at the stove, embarrassingly rutting up against the cupboards, as if Harry was standing in front of him, stark naked under a floral apron.

It wasn’t until today that Louis had decided it was time to make fucking progress.

Sharing beds apparently wasn’t enough to move forward. The progression had to be oral, and for once, not in a sexual way. Therefore, he would go over to Harry’s, ask for permission to stay another night, and spill the beans whenever it would be the right timing.

Louis got dressed and hurried through the hygiene routine before rushing out in the hallway, tugging into his white sneakers without minding to lace them. The adrenaline had kicked in and was surging through him even when Harry’s door flew open.

But. There was a girl in the doorway.

He blinked, examined her as her crooked teeth formed a broad smile, and exhaled the air that had been pumped up into his heavy lungs. This was no relative, clearly, hence the almond-shaped eyes, the freckled skin and the narrow bone structure beneath straight, charcoal-black hair. She wore denim dungarees over a simple black t-shirt, having adorned her neck and both wrists with golden jewelry.

“Please don’t be offended when I say I’m disappointed you aren’t sushi delivery.”

The girl’s toothy smile dissolved as her hands played at the seams of her frontal pocket. A redhead with horn-rimmed glasses and even wilder freckles popped up over her shoulder, thin lips forming a circle.

“Sorry.” The chirpy girl extended her hand for Louis to shake and he accepted it with caution. “I’m Madalyn.” She bobbed her head backwards to her friend. “This is Colin. He’s a dumbass.”

“Oh. I’m, erm—” His voice halted as he was still baffled by the new, unexpected range of faces, “I’m the next-door neighbour, Louis. So,” he paused again. “Madalyn. Is Harry here?”

The redhead, Colin, kept chewing on something behind her back. “He’s weeing. We’ll tell him you came by and—”

“No way. Let him come inside,” Madalyn objected, cramming her mouth with a handful of peanuts. She gestured with her hand before chewing, just like the boy behind her. “Come in,” she said, mouth partly closed, “We’re having game night. By the way, Harry calls me Maddie. That’s allowed.”

“Oh.” Louis’ eyebrows wrinkled as he hesitated. “I shouldn’t be—I don’t wanna intrude. I should just head ba—”

“Nonsense.” The girl surprisingly seized Louis’ wrist, tugging him inside. “Join us for game night. The more the fucking merrier.”

First thing after removing his sneakers and lining them into Harry’s untidy shoe rack, Louis spotted yet another guest plunged down into the smoke-grey, padded couch with his ankles crossed over the additional ottoman. A shallow bowl of peanuts was balanced in his hand while he stayed concentrated on whatever programme was displayed on the TV. In contrast to Colin, the one on the couch was tall, wide-shouldered and almost as bulky as Louis himself. The dark eyes that remained focused forward were accompanied by a pair of sharp eyebrows, which were arched, hence the fierce expression. His chocolate brown hair was middle-parted and thick at the front.

The bathroom door swung open from Louis’ right-hand side. Harry stepped out, one-handedly tugging up his zipper as his eyes bulged at the sight of Louis, who suddenly was fiddle-footed.

“Louis! What um, are you doing here?” Harry pocketed his hands after straightening the fabric of his pale-blue t-shirt, which he must’ve recently changed into.

Louis noticed a pair of eyes staring him down in his peripheral vision, the sense coming in the direction of the silent dude on the couch.

“I just—I was gonna speak to you about something but I didn’t know you had friends over,” Louis explained, “and they let me inside.”

“Oh. A-All right,” Harry swallowed and motioned into the kitchen area. “We um, ordered sushi but you can”—Harry swivelled on the spot after having collected an empty glass from the wooden cupboard—”share with me, if you’re hungry.”

Louis’ heart tinged with warmth. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’ve eaten, actually,” (that was a lie) “but thank you. That’s very considerate.”

“Want a drink, then? Don’t have coffee, obviously, but I can offer water or fancy orange juice.”

A smile had awakened on Louis’ face at the mention of coffee. “I’m fine, mate. Thanks, though.”

Just as Louis turned on his heel, he gained eye contact with Eyebrow Guy whose spine was sunken into Harry’s many coloured cushions. As Louis watched him, the guy’s gaze wandered to Harry, who was pouring himself a glass of juice.

“Can I have a glass? Pretty please?” the bloke hollered, shoving another bunch of peanuts past his lips.

“Sure,” Harry replied, still focused on the countertop as he collected another glass before placing them both onto a tray along with another bowl of nuts. “Maddie, where are those crackers you brought?”

“Jayce has ‘em.”

The one who still hadn’t introduced himself to Louis was apparently Jayce. He raised a hand in the air while holding a red box of Ritz crackers before lowering the clutch and tearing the cardboard package open.

All four of them were seated on the couch when Louis stood nearby, feeling awkward as he studied their every move. There was a game of Trivial Pursuit laid out atop the coffee table. Colin had a deck of cards tucked into his palm as he read out:

“Art and literature. What did the seven dwarves do for a job?” As Madalyn sat upright with enlarged eyes, Colin seized her wrist. “Hang on. There are alternatives. Fishers, miners or construction workers.”

“Miners. Easy.”

Madalyn rolled the dice a second time and moved her pie-shaped game piece two steps to the right.

“Ugh. Science and Nature? Whatever. I need it.”

Colin cleared his throat. “What—Sorry, _where_ is the smallest bone in the body?”

Louis watched Harry’s posture change. He clearly knew the answer to this one. (Not to mention the deery eyes as he watched Madalyn ponder.)

“Fuck, I don’t know. In the fingers?”

“Wrong. Ear,” Colin said.

Madalyn accepted the stack of cards from Colin’s hand as Jayce rolled the dice and moved his piece. “Green again. Who invented the telephone? Bell, Edison or Tesla?”

“Edison.”

Madalyn snorted just as Colin gasped.

“What? He’s an inventor.”

“So are the other two, bonehead!” the ginger one burst out, and Jayce shrugged carelessly inserting another cracker into his mouth. “It’s _Bell_. Can I get that one?”

As it was Harry’s turn, the dice rolled over the board and plummeted over the edge of the table. Somebody chanted _roll again_ , while Harry stepped forth in order to bend down and pick it up. Though, just as he did so, Jayce smiled to himself, gave Colin a look and made a gesture in the air, as if to pretend he was spank Harry’s arse.

In the blink of an eye, Louis’ teeth clenched, his face heating up irritably. Harry slumped back in his seat, Jayce shuffling close until their shoulders were tucked together. To silently call him out, Colin swatted Jayce’s arm, but Jayce simply laughed and snitched another cracker from the box. Madalyn and Harry were equally oblivious to the situation when Harry rolled the dice over the board a second time.

Louis was already feeling sick to his stomach.

The scene was unbearable to watch. Especially when Harry answered three questions correctly in a row and Jayce bumped his shoulder into Harry’s and gave him two or three saccharine compliments.

As it was Colin’s go, Louis called out Harry’s name to beckon him over. The younger boy stood up from the jam-packed sofa and scooted over with a curious look on his face before following Louis into the kitchen.

“I um, I’m gonna head back.”

Harry’s blissful expression faltered. “Oh. Are you sure? You can join my team in the game,” he suggested, his excitement returning yet again. “That’d be a one-way ticket to victory. The only category left is orange. Sports and Leisure.” Harry’s green eyes have off a shine of glee. “That’s perfect for you!”

Louis’ lip curled. “That’s sweet, but I have to go.”

“Alright,” Harry sighed. “Well, I’ll see you?”

“Of course.” Louis palm grazed lightly over Harry’s tricep. “I had a nice time today. At the shoot. You’re okay, yeah? You like how things turned out?”

He felt obliged to ask. The overthinking had really gotten to his head and he had somehow managed to convince himself that Harry was mad at him. He clearly wasn’t, though, hence all this talk about sharing food and teaming up against his mates.

“Yeah,” Harry crooned, tone chippy. “The photos were great. I have to thank you again.” Harry looked down, his nervous nature exposing itself as his hands fiddled over his abdomen. He looked up again, practically shining. “You’re so kind.”

“Oh. No worries,” Louis cooed and stroked Harry’s arm further, just because he was given the opportunity. “Don’t ever hesitate to call me, or come over. Not just for help, I mean, anything. You’re always welcome.”

Louis wondered if he was being obvious enough. He figured maybe polite gestures were better than subtle flirting. Maybe Harry enjoyed the kindness more than the smugness, and Louis would have to balance out the alternatives. It seemed to be working, hence the thankful smile on Harry’s bronzed face.

After all, the dimples had returned, which made Louis’ goodbye seem complete.

 

…

 

Four of Louis’ matches had snapped in half during the process of lighting his Black Coconut candle.

The fifth and final one managed to ignite a spark inside the thick glass. This invited a burning scent into Louis’ nostrils as he lifted the comforter on the bed, fluffing the padding and spreading the billowy fabric over the bed and the two pillows. He was in the midst of tugging his shirt off when the doorbell rang. As the material clung at his jaw, he yanked it off and tossed it onto the dresser before strolling outside to enter the hallway.

Harry was on the other side when Louis opened up in a tired haze. They radiated the same energy, it seemed, judging by Harry’s fatigued eyes and Louis’ highly messy fringe. He patted it a few times after seeing Harry’s face, delighted to say the least.

“I know it’s late,” the curly one started and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his navy, oversized Nike jumper. “I just—I’m tired but I can’t sleep. I think um, I had too much sugar or something.”

Louis scratched his neck. “Sounds like something you would do,” he answered, which made Harry smile through the tiredness. “Have your friends left?”

“Yep. About an hour ago.”

“Come in then,” Louis told him before watching the boy tiptoe inside, step out of his boots and place them inside the hidden closet. “The sheets and just out of the dryer so they’re nice and warm.”

“Oh. Great,” answered Harry just before entering the bedroom. “Wow. It’s so untidy.”

Louis chuckled and placed a soft hand on Harry’s shoulder in the doorway. “Shouldn’t tell you this but it’s always untidy. I clean up when you come over.”

A chuckle bounced from him while he climbed into the white bedding while tugging at the collar of his baggy hoodie. It came off, exposing Harry’s stomach. Louis tried his best not to stare when he unbuttoned his light washed jeans and began trailing them down his thighs, but it was close to impossible. Instead, Louis joined him on the other side of the bed and kicked out of his own.

This was, after all, the perfect time to confess.

Harry was tossing and turning to find the optimal position, halting when he laid on his stomach and faced Louis from the side. The mere illumination that reached his face came from the narrow slit between Louis’ nearly closed curtains. The nocturnal shine of the starlit sky touched Harry’s nose and cheekbones with delicate specks of silver.

“Really smells of Black Coconut,” Harry murmured and watched Louis slide down next to him. “Feel like I’m on a beach, in a bungalow somewhere.”

Louis’ nostrils flared to release a high-pitched snicker. “That is where we are, no? Stranded on an island somewhere in the Indian Ocean.” Harry chuckled, the sound half-muffled by the pillow. “Maybe I should braid your hair again so you’ll look like every tourist ever.”

Harry’s lashes fluttered. “The braiding is a winner, to be fair. Works like melatonin.”

“Melatonin?” As a subtle gesture, Louis dug and shifted his elbow in the sheets to fill the space in between their bodies and gently fetch Harry’s fringe under his fingers. “Another obscure Harry-term. What’s that?”

“It’s the hormone in the brain that makes you feel sleepy. People take it as medicine to cure their insomnia. You fall asleep straight away.”

“So my physical touch affects the sleeping hormones in your brain?” Louis tapped Harry’s forehead with the pads of his fingers, “Right here?” Harry giggled while Louis deliberately combed each finger through the droopy curls in his fringe. “That’s what you use me for. Medicine. That’s me.”

A warm smile had settled on Harry’s face. Then his eyelids fell, breaths becoming heavier through his nose. It reminded him of cradling a newborn baby and watching it fall asleep within seconds. Louis wished he could do the same. He figured, maybe if he held Harry close to his chest, his breaths would soothe his heartbeat and Louis would fall asleep too.

It was such a fetching thought that he almost immediately moved up, slid an arm around Harry’s bare waist and hugged him close before draping the comforter over them both. His fingers continued to play idly in Harry’s fringe, tugging and twisting with ginger motions until they eventually stopped, slackening leisurely. Louis gradually drifted off, his conscious mind gently sinking into pitch black darkness.

 


	5. ashton fucking kutcher

 

April had nearly passed when Louis and Harry were roaming down an aisle in Marks & Spencer to purchase a hairdryer and new towels for Louis’ flat.

The underside of Louis’ sneakers squeaked as he slid sideways over the polished floors to fetch a bunch of shampoo and conditioner bottles to refill his stocks. As they were stacked inside the trolley next to the newly picked burgundy towels, Louis continued to push it forward to reach Harry at the end of the aisle.

“Amazing. You found the hairdryers.”

Harry threw a quick glance over his shoulder before lifting a black and silvery one in the air. “You should get this. It’s fifty pounds and it has a retractable cable reel. Like a vacuum cleaner.” Louis eyebrows shot up, his fingers tracing over the plug. “I know right? Whoever came up with this is a bloody genius.”

Louis gently grabbed the device from Harry’s hand to turn it over by twisting his wrist. He observed the price tag, detecting a red, bolder font that read _two for seventy-nine_ , he collected a second one from the shelf.

“I’m getting you one.” He looked up at Harry, whose eyes bulged at the comment. “It’s just a few pounds extra.” By the looks of it, Harry as the secret mathematician he was, shook his head because Louis’ calculations were way off. “C’mon. It’ll be my way of repaying you for coming with.”

“I _asked_ to come with.”

“Doesn’t matter. Want one?” Louis waved the gadget in the air, waiting for Harry’s eyebrows to stop wrinkling until they finally did. “I interpret the hesitation as a humble way of saying yes.” Louis stocked the hairdryers into the cart on top of the two separate piles of towels. “Great. What’s next?”

Every once in a while, Harry would ask for permission to put a product in Louis’ trolley, as if Louis was his parent and Harry was tricking him into purchasing goodies. They were onto the third attempt of persuasion when Louis finally asked about it.

“Are you trying to make me spend all my money?” He bobbed his head to accept Harry’s pleading method, and Harry put the chocolate eggs into the cart. “You know I’m not gonna eat these things anyway.”

“They’re for whenever I come over,” Harry chirped, treading in reverse with his hands over the front of the trolley as Louis guided it forward. “You never have any sweets to offer. I just get lured into consuming coffee. You are, for sure, the stereotypical old man.”

Louis let out a breathy laugh. “That’s because you are the stereotypical young child, and I have to parent you.”

Harry’s footsteps halted as Louis parked the trolley next to the bread section. Three shelves divided the different alternatives from one another, but Louis was quick to crouch down and collect a specific brand of rolls from the bottom row.

“In that case,” Harry drawled, watching Louis as he stood upright and tossed the package towards the remaining collected groceries. “You’re a real DILF,” he added. Louis’ brows creased as Harry choked on a laugh, gripping onto the handles of the cart. “I’m serious. That’s coming from your own child.”

“Ugh,” Louis laughed, still frowning as he stepped close beside him to steer the cart towards the self checkout section. “Don’t call yourself my child. We’re grown men. You’re nineteen and I’m not a dad.”

Since they were in a public store, Louis couldn’t let this conversation proceed. He had pretended to dislike the topic, when in reality, he was just worried he would blush. And even though he had always managed to restrain getting boners around Harry, he knew he wasn’t exactly safe here or anywhere.

This was why he hurried through the checkout.

Harry helped Louis carry the bags from Louis’ silvery Volkswagen Polo. After arriving at the building, they risked taking the lift and thankfully reached the fifth floor without difficulties.

“Can I help you unpack?” Harry asked, shopping bag bumping into his thigh. As Louis had hesitated to reply, Harry bashfully backtracked. “Unless you’re busy. I would love to, um, watch a movie or some—“ He stopped himself out of uncertainty. “Never mind. You’re busy, aren’t you?”

Louis’ entire body was warm. “It’s Saturday. Surely I have loads of time on my hands.” The door was swung open and Louis stepped inside, beckoning Harry by flicking his head. “Come here.”

The comfort of the temperature in Louis’ flat compared to the slightly chilly April breeze was highly satisfying. Especially once they had settled on the couch with a coffee cup each, Harry munching on his chocolate eggs while Louis tapped over the remote to put on Netflix. They had agreed to watch _Pride & Prejudice _ because according to Harry, that was a suitable pick for when it was pouring outside.

It was much to their advantage that they had arrived just in time before the wind-driven, heavy rain had started to pitter-patter against the broad windows. The downpour was so rowdy that Harry had to tap up the volume on the remote. Afterwards, he crawled back under Louis’ snug, woolen blanket and grabbed the sweetened latte from the small sofa table.

“What’s the deal with Mr. Darcy?” muttered Louis onto his fist as his cheek was leaning against his knuckles. “I don’t see the charm. At all.”

“We’re barely halfway through. He’s sweet towards the end.”

A haughty scoff puffed from Louis’ mouth. “It’s always like that, ain’t it?” He looked at Harry whose eyes were glued to the screen. “The complete arsehole turns out to be a sweetheart. Do you find that realistic? One person changing from downright awful to fucking perfect?”

“The novel was written in the 1800th century,” Harry mumbled, throwing Louis a glance. “If you think this is a replica of any rom-com you’ve seen, you’re probably wrong. This is practically the pioneer of the arsehole-to-sweetheart concept.”

“It’s still a shit concept.”

Harry shot Louis a bitter glare.

“Oh, I’ve made you grumpy again?”

A smile was pulling at the corner of Harry’s mouth, which he was trying to fight until it broke through completely. It altered into a hushed chuckle as his feline eyes had returned to the screen.

 

…

 

Harry had found a bag of crisps that had passed its expiry date. Since he had eaten all of the chocolate eggs, he was onto the crisps. Louis didn’t even mind seeing the crumbles tumble onto the white settee.

The film was over and Louis had put on an episode of _Friends_ as a way of repressing the pretentious movie of Harry’s choice and changing the mood of their atmosphere. In Louis’ opinion, having Matt Leblanc and David Schwimmer’s voices joined by laugh tracks in the background was much more comfortable to the ear than Keira Knightley’s posh, antiquated English accent.

“You would surely empty out all my cupboards if you were to stay here long enough,” Louis chatted as he had made himself another espresso to then pop down next to Harry. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s better to eat it than to throw it away.”

“Oh, you mean like Birdie’s pie?”

“Exactly,” Louis chirped, smiling slyly. “You’re never _ever_ gonna let that one go, are you?”

Harry sucked the grease off his finger, his lips popping. “Nope.”

They refocused on the telly, both smiling fondly as Jennifer Aniston laid down on the hospital bed while Schwimmer held her hand and the nurse showed put her ultrasound image on display. Louis’ eyes returned to Harry when Aniston whimpered ‘I can’t see it!'and the curly boy burst into light-hearted chuckles. Another smile developed on Louis’ face.

That was until he started overthinking.

At first, Harry being comfortable in Louis’ presence seemed to be a good sign, but the longer he pondered over the idea, he realised it might’ve been a sign of them forming a _friendship_. Because Harry carelessly munched on chocolates and crisps, sucked the grease off his fingers and sat close to Louis without ever minding to adjust his fringe or nervously making an apology for speaking with food in his mouth. Maybe he didn’t care about Louis’ perception of him simply because he was into someone else.

Louis sighed quietly to himself before sucking in air to utter the following sentence. “Any plans with Ashton Kutcher yet?”

Harry’s head turned, his brow wrinkled. “Ashton Kutcher?”

“You don’t see it?” Louis crooned and sipped briefly from the coffee cup. “That bloke Jayce. He looks just like him.”

The curly one stopped chewing. “Why would I make plans with Jayce alone? He’s just Colin’s friend from work.”

Louis’ arm dropped over the backrest. “Because he clearly fancies you. I figured he might’ve asked you out already.”

“He doesn’t _fancy_ me,” Harry said on a laugh, tucking the bag of crisps away by his side. It seemed that he truly hadn’t noticed Jayce’s affectionate behaviour, such as when he had moved unreasonably close to Harry on the couch, or given him sugar-coated compliments. “What are you talking about?”

“Yes he does.” Louis rolled his eyes while Harry’s widened. “What, so now that you’re aware of it, you’re interested?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry said in a chirpy tone. “How would you know anyway?”

Louis took a larger gulp from his espresso to feel the warm fluid gush down his throat to heat up the center of his chest.

“He kept checking you out that time,” Louis explained and Harry made a face. “You must’ve noticed. He was being really fucking clingy.”

“I don’t even know him,” Harry replied and fetched another couple of crisps from the half-empty bag. “Colin knows him since a few months back, and I’ve only known Colin for a year, or something. Maddie’s my closest friend but she’s friends with everyone. We’re childhood friends but we barely hang out. She’s mostly with her girlfriend.” He paused to swallow the digested potato crisps. “So yeah. I doubt Jayce fancies me. We’ve only met once.”

Louis shook his head and dipped his nose under the brim of his cup again to obtain another sip. “Just, um—Don’t give in, in case he ever, you know, tries to make a move.”

Harry’s smile twisted to the side. “Why not?”

“Because he seems like a bit of a dick.”

A frown formed on Harry’s face, though he was still smiling. “I’m pretty sure he’s not.”

“Harry. You just explained to me that you don’t know him.”

“Neither do you.”

Simply because Louis had no desire of arguing with Harry over something that so easily made his heart ache, the conversation died out rather quickly after Louis abruptly decided to change the subject.

 

…

 

“ _Didn’t want my braiding tonight?_ ”

Finally sending Harry this message had taken Louis an entire hour. He was already tucked in under the comforter, shamefully stroking a hand around his semi-hard cock to obtain an emotional as well as a physical release.

The message “ _I can’t bother you every night, can I?_ ” popped up in a grey bubble under Louis’ opening message.

He felt like a fourteen-year-old boy when he sat there, waiting for time to pass before typing into the message bar so that he wouldn’t come off too strong.

" _How could you possibly be bothering me when you fall asleep within the first five minutes?_ _Just come heeeeere."_

“ _Can’t. Smell gross. Haven’t showered_.”

“ _I promise not to smell your armpits."_

_"Not happening tonight. Maybe another day."_

Louis sighed through his nose as his arm dropped into the sheets. Everything between them was hot and cold. Louis had thought there had been progress after their brief shopping trip and the last few days they had spent together. But judging by Harry’s reaction after finding out Jayce had eyes for him, everything seemed to flip. Maybe Harry was completely uninterested in Louis if there was a better choice available.

“ _Alright. Good night_.” He contemplated adding a heart-emoji, but eventually decided not to.

Because at this point, it seemed too late to try.

 

…

 

**May, 2019**

 

“Oh. You’re four years apart?”

“Yeah. He’s in full bloom though, both in wisdom and in beauty. He’s,” Louis stopped to shake his head, cheeks puffing as he made a stunned gesture, “the most gorgeous person I’ve ever come across.”

As Louis was squatting down, he watched his client stretch in the wide, corner-to-corner and floor-to-ceiling mirror as her leg elongated over the vinyl flooring, her lithe arm following in a line to reach her pointed toes. They gained eye contact as she glanced into the mirror, firstly to observe her own posture, and secondly to give Louis a smile.

“You’re smitten. Happy to see you happy.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled. “I’m in deep, yeah. I feel like I dove in too quickly, though.” The crinkles faded. “Don’t really know if he feels the same way about me.”

“Are you joking?” Brooke, the twenty-year-old Friday client, asked in her Geordie accent. Her high, blonde ponytail was tossed over her shoulder as she rotated to watch Louis’ slackened facial features. “You’re a gentleman. By far the sweetest man I know. If straight men were like you, maybe I wouldn’t be a lesbian for Lynnie.”

“Thanks, babes,” Louis chuckled through the phrase, “but I think I’m coming off too strong.” He looked down at his hands, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I also think he’s into someone else.”

Brooke swung her leg back to sit cross-legged while seizing her ankle to stretch her hip upward. She was still watching Louis through the mirror, face emitting the mixture of a frown and a sympathetic grimace.

“That sucks. Maybe ask him about it?”

Louis rubbed his forehead. “I feel like I would make things weird. This week we’ve been hanging out constantly, but he never really shows any sign of attraction. If he does, it’s in a jokey situation. We’ve never been serious about those things.”

“It’s only gonna get worse if you don’t tell him. That’s how I got Lynnie. I owned up to my feelings and earned her respect.” Brooke watched Louis purse his lips to show skepticism and she changed into holding her other ankle. “Trust me, it’s worth it. You’re not gonna feel good when you see him stringing after somebody else.”

Louis sighed, scratching his neck. “Fuck.”

“Take your shirt off in front of him or something. He’ll probably drop to his knees.”

Louis chuckled bitterly. “You don’t think I’ve done that already?”

Brooke’s eyes bulged. “Oh. Then he must be playing hard to get because you have better abs than Hercules.”

Louis’ Friday sessions were often quite therapeutic. Brooke would give him advice and Louis would give her some in return. Most of the time, though, they were discussing Louis’ problems, since Brooke’s love life wasn’t as ineffective as his. He knew it was dumb to be envious of their relationship, but he couldn’t really help it.

When Louis made it to the fifth floor in his building, Harry’s front door stood wide open.

Since Harry wasn’t a fan of music, the melodious sound of electropop that whistled from inside indicated that he had company. Rummaging through his athletic barrel bag to find his key, Louis mentally criticised the genre and quality of the seemingly cheap, portable Bluetooth speaker.

Whoever was holding the speaker seemed to have moved into the hallway, hence the amplified sound. Louis turned his head and spotted an extended arm collecting a quilted jacket from the coat hanger. Strands of ginger hair poked out from behind the door. It was Colin, Louis understood.

“Anyway. If you get a pet, go for a bunny. They’re completely harmless. The best animal in the world,” another one spoke, and Louis’ throat tightened as he remembered the throaty voice of Jayce, also known as Ashton Kutcher. “They also clean themselves and they don’t make one fucking noise ever.”

“True,” Harry’s voice joined the conversation. “They’re likeable.”

Colin, the redhead, finally stepped past the threshold and instantly caught sight of Louis, who was yet to pull down the handle to his unlocked door. The redhead made a nodding gesture to greet him as he was holding the box to Trivial Pursuit with both hands.

“Hello again,” he said simply. It had been a week since the previous time, and Kutcher’s face still bothered Louis just as much when it appeared behind Colin’s shoulder. The two of them gave Louis a once-over in unison. “Got home from the gym?”

“Yeah, well, _work_. I’m a personal trainer.”

Kutcher grimaced. “Cool.”

“Well,” Colin stepped out over the tiles and motioned towards the staircase, Jayce following behind with the speaker tucked to his abdomen, “Harry warned us about the lift so I assume we’ll avoid that one.”

Louis gave them a nod. “Wisely done.”

Weeks had gone by since Louis had last felt this painfully awkward. It wasn’t until the two blokes had descended down the flight of steps and Harry had appeared in the doorway, that Louis was able to exhale the air he had been pressuring to hold inside his tight chest. Harry’s eyes were as wide as Bambi’s, blinking curiously before he began talking.

“Hey Lou,” he breathed out.

“Hi,” Louis answered in a chirpier tone, his eyes focusing on the chocolate-brown curl that had dropped down in the centre of Harry’s forehead. Louis’ hand tugged tighter at the strap to his shouldered barrel bag. “How’s your day?”

“It’s fine. I um, was thinking ‘bout ordering sushi,” said Harry while tugging at the loose sleeve to his pale-blue jumper. “Would you wanna join?”

Louis’ smile was detected. “Erm, yeah.” He shrugged, holding firmly over the bag. Harry mimicked Louis’ smile and nodded, sweater-paws fondling together over his stomach. “I um, just have to drop my stuff off and um, get changed. Shower, too.”

“Yeah.” Harry perused the state of Louis’ clothing, which was a grey tank that had clammily stuck to his torso, and a pair of red gym shorts. “So”—his eyes returned to Louis’—“you can just pop over once you’re finished and we’ll order.”

“Sure,” Louis smiled and slid through the door, giving Harry a nod before shutting it behind him.

Maybe there was progress anyway.

 

…

 

“I’ve apologised five times already. Isn’t that enough?”

Louis was onto his third napkin, urgently trying to scrape off the stain of soy sauce on Harry’s upper thigh. He had attempted to feed Harry an avocado bite and accidentally dropped it onto his leg due to an unsteady hold of the chopsticks. Eating with chopsticks simply wasn’t one of his many specialties.

“Do I have to repay you? Take care of your laundry for you?”

“No,” Harry said through a chuckle, his arms were stubbornly crossing. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

They had been eating while an episode of _Atypical_ played in the background. Apparently, it was one of Harry’s favourite shows (Louis had made a mental note to watch it more). When one of the main couples on the show, Evan and Casey, turned up for a kissing scene, Louis repositioned on the couch and popped another sushi roll into his mouth to distract himself. Thinking of kisses somehow made him remember Kutcher and Colin. He still wondered why they had been visiting.

“So,” he cleared his throat and swallowed the chewed rice, nori, salmon and avocado. “Do your friends come here every weekend now? As a tradition?”

Harry’s frame seemed to freeze in motion in Louis’ peripheral vision. “Uh, no. Not exactly. I mean, Colin and Jayce were just here to pick up the Trivial Pursuit box. Colin forgot it here last time.”

“So Jayce just … tagged along?”

Harry hesitated. “I assume they came from work. They’re coworkers. Did I tell you?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, still too cowardly to meet Harry’s eye, “Yeah you did.”

The episode was over when Harry and Louis had both emptied their packages. As the telly automatically continued to the next, the boys were too caught up in their conversation to even pay attention to the screen. Louis was trying his best to make Harry laugh until his cheeks were pink and fully alive. They always seemed to end up that way.

“Agh,” Harry sighed in joyous tone as his head sunk down in the cushiony, top part of the backrest. Those deery eyes were ongoingly focused on Louis’, glittering as it seemed. “You have to stop. My stomach hurts so much. I’m gonna have a stroke if you continue…”

“Fine.” Louis smiled, elbow angled onto the back cushion to face Harry. “So. You’re not close with your parents, you said? You’re closer with your aunt,” Louis said, simply to let the information absorb. “What’s her name?”

“Elsa.” Harry’s smile became warmer. “She’s awesome. She inspires me so much.” He paused to collect some of the crust from the very bottom of the bag of crisps. “It’s great to work with someone you love. It’s also easier to get a day off.”

Louis smiled equally as big. “That’s nice. I’m not close with my parents either,” he drawled, unbothered. “They separated when I was seven. Ten years later, when told ‘em I’m gay, they unofficially separated from me as well.”

Harry grimaced bitterly. “That’s like my dad. Mum doesn’t care. I’m not sure she even knows.” Louis made a face and Harry just shrugged before continuing. “So, you never have family gatherings?”

“No,” Louis said, shaking his head. “Mum usually texts me on my birthday. That’s about it. During the holiday season I hang out with friends. My closest mate always invites me over for things. Christmas, especially.”

“I could celebrate with you some time,” Harry suggested and Louis’ tight-lipped smile shifted into a toothy one. “When’s your birthday?”

“Christmas Eve.”

Harry’s Bambi eyes went wide. “That only gives me more reason to buy you scented candles!” Louis laughed, his hand covering his mouth. “I would give you Frosty Gingerbread, or Glittering Star,” he paused to remember the name of another one, “and um—Oh! Hollyberry! That’s a great one.”

“Oh, Harry Styles,” Louis drawled and pushed his spare palm into the shoulder of Harry’s pale-blue, knitted sweater. “There’s no one quite like you, is there?”

 

…

 

On a foggy Sunday, Louis had dozed off on the nearly solid couch with _Atypical_ playing in the background. He was startled awake by the ringing ting of the door bell. At once, he shut the TV off, straightened his v-neck and hurried towards the door.

Harry stood there. Not _just_ Harry in the pale-blue jumper he had also worn before. This was Harry (in a pale-blue jumper) with a smile so wide it seemed to have outstretched his cheeks, holding a ginormous cage with white grids. Louis’ eyes had to search before he found it, but inside, perched in a corner, was a bunny, small enough to fit inside his empty palm. Its fur was sandy beige and its lengthy ears hung down softly over its head.

“I adopted a bunny!”

“Oh,” Louis settled with.

 _Jayce_.

This was about _Jayce_.

In retrospect, Louis remembered hearing them speak about pets and Jayce advising Harry to get a bunny. And here Harry was, having done exactly what Jayce had told him to do. Fucking bunnies. Fucking shit. Fucking _Jayce_.

“That was … sudden.”

“I know,” Harry said on a euphonic chuckle. His hands repositioned at the sides of the cage to adjust the grip. “I’ve always wanted a pet and I just—I guess I just realised there was nothing stopping me but myself.” There was a pause where Harry awaited a response, but since Louis only seemed to stare in a perplexed daze, Harry motioned the cage forward and presented his desire. “Can I come inside? You can hold him, if you would like to.”

It wasn’t long until Harry’s dear long-eared bunny was hopping around between Louis’ stretched legs. They had moved from the tiled floors in the kitchen to the carpet by the sofa, because the bunny kept slipping where the floors were polished. The pet seemed comfortable on a smoother surface, where he occasionally got petted by Harry’s hand.

“Why aren’t you feeling his fur?” asked Harry while trailing a finger over one of the ears. “It’s so soft.”

Louis lifted three fingers onto the highest point of the bunny’s backbone to stroke it a couple times. At the softest touch, the miniature creature swivelled under Louis’ fingers to reach them and sniff the foreign scent. The soft nose of the bunny tickled along Louis’ index finger until he felt a warm, slightly coarse, graze the very tip.

“He licked me,” Louis said, surprise tilting the tone.

Harry, who had been smiling while examining the whole act, smiled wider. “People usually say it’s because humans have salt on their skin and bunnies like that, but the licking is actually just a sign of affection.”

“Affection?” A snort pressed through Louis’ nose as the bunny continued to taste his finger. “How can he like me two seconds into knowing me?”

Harry tilted his head. “Because you—you probably radiate comfort. He’s feeling safe.”

The bunny fondled into Harry’s palm when his hand joined next to Louis’. Its minikin paws tapped over Harry’s fingers and soon enough it was perched up in his hand. Harry brought the pet close to his face and daintily kissed the fur, which made the animal turn in his palm. Just like that, Harry and his curious bunny sat staring at each other while Harry occasionally nuzzled his nose against the pet’s flat snout.

“You never said anything about liking bunnies.”

This ambiguous phrase diverted Harry’s attention from the bunny to Louis’ blank face. His mien must’ve been enigmatic, even though it felt slack. Or perhaps Harry was capable of decoding every pent-up emotion Louis was attempting to whitewash.

“You never asked about it,” he answered.

The bunny inaudibly hopped down onto the carpet.

Louis’ shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. I would’ve understood if there had been planning involved.” Harry ached a brow, so Louis elaborated. “I feel like, I would’ve seen you looking at adverts, or like, thinking out loud about it, or, maybe, asking me for a second opinion. You know, I feel like, realistically, you would’ve wanted me to come pick it up with you. Right? We practically do everything together now, and all of a sudden, you adopt a bunny, and I have no say—“

“It’s a pet _bunny_ , Louis. Not a orphaned child, or something. It’s not like I made some life-changing decision. Yeah, it was an impulse purchase.” Harry shrugged one shoulder, finger padding over the bunny’s miniature paw, brushing off a shred of sawdust. “But there was no doubt in my mind. He’s perfect.”

And then Jayce’s goddamned face appeared in Louis’ mind.

“Who?”

Harry looked up again. “The bunny, of course.”

Louis’ features slackened. “Oh.”

”Now that I think about it…” Harry’s finger moved from the paw to his own chin, tapping over it. “Just because it has a pink little penis doesn’t mean it identifies as a male. Erm, actually, I’m not sure how developed their brains are.”

A curl finally found Louis’ mouth. “I think you’re safe to call _it_ a him. We’ve established that this is a bunny we’re talking about, yeah?”

“Alright then. Do you think the name should still be unisex, though? Not like calling it Hopper, Snowflake, Chipmunk, or something else stupid. He’s a real person to me. For all I know, he could be listening to this conversation right now. Therefore, he should have a human name.”

“Why would anyone call their _bunny_ Chipmunk?” Louis asked, belly shaking in a soft laugh. “That makes zero sense.”

“Not the point,” Harry drawled. “I’m thinking maybe Arnold. But that’s annoying to say. It should be something that rolls off the tongue, maybe. Alan? Al-an. Does that sound right?”

Louis didn’t want to care about Harry’s bunny. He wanted to despise it. The only reason it was hopping around on his own carpet was because of _Jayce_. Ashton Callow Contemptuous Cocksure Kutcher. Ashton triple C Kutcher. Cockhead times _three_. However, Harry and the bunny were Cute times a _million_ , and sometimes—or most times—Harry’s charming behaviour would brainwash Louis, regardless of how much he tried to completely ignore it.

“You should um, have a name that starts with B, because then you can call it ‘Blank’ the Bunny. Buster, for example. Like the blue one in _Tiny Toon Adventures._ Buster the Bunny. Right?”

After hesitating, Harry muttered “That’s unoriginal” and tickled the softest spot of fur between his pet’s ears. “The bunny in _Arthur_ is also called Buster. Buster’s everywhere.”

“Fine, then. What about Bruce? Bart? Benny?”

This dialogue in particular expired shortly after, and Harry’s bunny remained nameless. Though, Harry taught Louis how to fill the pet water bottle and attach it to the grids of the cage, along with everything else needed in order to look after an irresistible fur-ball.

 

…

 

On a Thursday evening, when Louis had least expected it, Harry sent him a text, asking for him to come over.

This had almost knocked Louis off his sofa, as he sat alone, drinking whiskey while streaming his favourite record [ _Waking Up_ ](https://open.spotify.com/album/2pLAOZiilrhOrTQNqrF8qr?si=66yc9HiJTfm8QYK53BM8YA) for the seventh time in the same day.

Harry was scrubbing a cast-iron skillet with a dish brush when Louis entered his flat. He even wore an apron, which was navy blue, contrary to the floral one in Louis’ bizarre fantasy. Harry’s fringe was slightly wet and Louis assumed he had adjusted it while doing the dishes, hence the teeny stripe of foam along his hairline.

Louis strode into the kitchen, overly confident and strangely greedy to inch close enough to envelope Harry’s slim figure with both his arms. It would be PG-13 compared to his fantasy, for sure. Just soft hugs and perhaps, smooth kissing along the side of Harry’s creamily pale, swanlike neck, which was arched as it curved to meet Louis’ whimsical stare.

“Let me guess.” Louis pointed a finger at Harry, a blithe, thin-lipped smile accompanying him. “You’re restless and you want me to do your braids and rub your feet with some kind of extravagant foot cream? Are you hiring me as your personal masseuse? I’ve done the model thing already, and that, as we both know, worked out perf—”

“Louis,” Harry barged in, chuckling briefly. He unplugged the sink, abandoned the pan inside and removed his neon yellow rubber gloves. “Believe it or not, no. I just—I really have to talk to you about something.”

Louis’ posture sagged anxiously.

“Talk … to me? About … something?”

“Exactly.” Harry span around and departed the strap from his neck to hang the apron on a hook beside the tall, two-door fridge. “We might have to sit down but I really don’t want the scenario to be overstated.”

Louis’ lip parted, eyes narrowing. “Uh, you—you mean we—You, uh, want to _talk_?”

Harry laughed wryly. “Stop acting weird. You’re just gonna make it more weird.”

After clearing his throat and discreetly wafting his t-shirt with the grip of his thumb and index finger to fan the sheen of sweat forming along his sternum, Louis’ eyes widened with engrossment while he attempted to conceal his last-minute jitters.

“Right. Go on.”

Harry’s arms disappeared behind his frame as he leaned back towards the closed refrigerator.

“So, um. I posted a picture of my bunny on Facebook. I know Facebook is sort of outdated, but like, I felt like I needed an update after three years. The worst thing about Facebook, though, is that whenever one of your friends likes your posts, it’ll appear in all of their friends’ timelines—”

“Harry, what is this story? You feel bad for exposing your bunny to the internet without his personal approval?”

Harry’s laugh came out as a breathy snort. “No. Just listen. Erm, long story short, Jayce saw the photo, sent me a friend request and messaged me, and well, basically he asked me out on a date.”

Louis’ face slackened. “ _What_?”

Harry nervously picked at the zipper to his forest green hoodie, shrugging with one shoulder. “Why are you surprised? You literally predicted this.”

It took him seconds to construct a sentence, which ended badly. “Well, I—That’s not what I meant to say, I mean _why_. That’s what.  _Why_ are you telling me this? How am I involved?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry crossed his arms, stepping forth from his previously lax position. Standing upright, he arched a brow to emphasise his confusion. “Asking _you_ whether to adopt a bunny is crucial, while this is irrelevant?”

Louis was red-faced. He could feel himself burning up due to the shame and perspiration. It was, indeed, spreading to more areas than his breastbone.

“Okay. I’m sorry. It’s relevant. I just—Fuck. I dunno,” Louis sighed, the stuttering doing his head in. It was as if he felt actual pain when he awkwardly phrased the following question. “You’re not—You’re not actually going, though, are you?”

Harry’s lips tightened. “Erm, I actually—I said yes, Lou.”

For a split second, there had been that same sinking feeling in Louis’ stomach. That one he would have while actually falling, or descending on a rollercoaster. Harry’s phrase had also, whacked Louis’ temple like a rock. Though, it wasn’t exactly Louis’ _head_ that twinged in pain.

His brows had jammed together. “What the fuck, Harry? You, _what_?—You’re going on a date with him? You’re gonna _date_ Jayce?”

Harry’s shoulders slouched down. “What do you expect me to do? I barely know him and I couldn’t just reject him. That would’ve been mean.”

Louis tilted his head. “You’re doing it out of pity?”

“No—I mean,” Harry swallowed, “I guess I am.”

After sighing, Louis rubbed his forehead and shrugged helplessly. “When is it?”

“Friday. Well, tomorrow.”

“And it’s definitely happening?”

Harry’s shoulders fetched up to his ears, then dropped calmly. “Unless.” Louis’ eyes widened in suspense. “I mean, unless you um, have a reason I shouldn’t go. Besides you disliking him.”

This was where Louis would step up to the plate. In a utopian scenario, Louis would slay the thirty-foot dragon with an ancient sword and lift Harry up bridal style with blood-stained arms. Though, Louis wasn’t a knight in shining armour.

“You should go,” he said. Harry’s lips pursed as he nodded unhurriedly. “You’re right. Give him a chance. He might be good. What do I know?”

Harry played with the zipper to his hoodie, idly tugging it up and down. “If you say so.” Louis’ heart weighed down, the guilt nearly ending him. “Then I will go. Friday night. I’ll tell you how it goes.”

Louis swallowed dryly. “Right.”

 

…

 

Friday night, Louis was collapsed in bed, fully clothed, enduring his muscle fever.

He was attempting to fall asleep, too physically and mentally weakened to spare energy on undressing. Though, sleep seemed to be miles away. This partially depended on the three cups of coffee he had earlier consumed. Bust most of all, it was the punishing anxiety that followed after the thought of Harry and Jayce having dinner.

It was around nine, Louis assumed, when he noticed the front door clicking open. Before he could begin to worry, he heard the familiar voice.

“Louis? Why’d you leave your front door unlocked?”

Maybe it was the muscle fever that exasperated him to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to reply. The physical exhaustion glued him to the spot even when Harry happened to sneak inside his untidy, nearly pitch-black bedroom. However, Louis’ mind was wide awake; especially when Harry crawled into bed while he fake-slept with heavily shut eyes.

“Lou.”

Louis’ teeth grinded together.

“Why are you still in your clothes?”

A beat passed.

“Muscle fever.”

“Oh, Lou! You’re awake.” Louis heard Harry’s limbs shuffle in the linens, his body heat drawing near. “I uh, is this the wrong time?”

“No,” Louis muttered, but kept his eyes closed.

“Okay,” Harry hummed, pausing briefly. “Erm, remember the date? With Jayce?” Since he didn’t gain a reply, he simply proceeded. “It’s um—It’s over. It was _really_ , really bad.”

Louis’ eyes opened in slits, inviting a curled-up Harry into sight. He wore a light button-up, which seemed white in the dark, but was probably baby pink in daylight. His Bambi eyes weren’t as deery as Louis remembered. They were narrow and seemed to carry a lot of worry. Probably equal in amount to Louis’ anxiety, which had lessened after he’d listened the previous phrase.

“Was he being a dick?” Louis whispered raspily.

Harry’s eyes gently rounded. “Yeah. Please don’t … say 'I told you so'. I know you did. So I wanted to, um … apologise. I should’ve listened to you.”

A sigh puffed lightly through Louis’ nose. “It’s fine. What happened?”

“We had dinner,” Harry began and sucked in air as a nervous habit, “and he wasn’t—I mean, he wasn’t really listening to me. He kept going on and on about himself and his life, and he isn’t interesting at all. He’s actually like, really stupid, and shallow.”

Louis scoffed softly. “Shocking.”

Harry gave him a look, Louis mouthed an apology and Harry inhaled a second time.

“So, after eating, when we were leaving, he tried to kiss me but I pushed his head away, because—because I didn’t want to.”

The slightest curl twisted Louis’ lips. “You _pushed_ his head away?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “It gets worse, though. After I pushed him, he told me it was alright if I wanted to wait for when we’d get back to his place.” Louis visually cringed. “Yeah? It was _terrible_ , so I turned around and strode off. That was like, fifteen minutes ago.”

“Wow,” Louis chuckled lowly, eyes falling shut again. “Sorry ‘bout that. Sorry it didn’t, you know, work out.”

Regardless of Louis’ indifferent attitude, it was self-evident to the both of them that relief had flowed throughout Louis’ entire body while listening to Harry’s story. All the images of Harry cuddling up to Jayce had finally expired, but Louis was still grumpy. So grumpy, even though he _wanted_ to let go of it.

“Are you actually sorry?”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” Harry paused, the silence appearing dreadful to Louis. “I mean, aren’t you glad I didn’t let him kiss me there?”

“Mm.”

“Okay,” he drawled. “You’re not um, being very responsive right now.” Louis stayed unmoving, gradually toying with Harry’s patience. “Lou,” he cooed, poking the tip of Louis’ nose, which did nothing, the eyes remaining stubbornly closed. “Aren’t you, like, glad I’m in _your_ bed, instead of his?”

“Hm.”

“Please look at me.”

This time, Louis only opened one eye. There was barely any light catching him, and watching Harry with one eye wasn’t practical in the least. So he opened the second one. Harry however, was watching Louis with puppy eyes. They weren’t deery nor feline, not in that moment. They were dark. Dark _green_ and so pleading that Louis knew there was something else coming.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

Louis tilted his head, gulping. “You—You do?”

Harry’s chest billowed and dropped as he sighed. “It’s quite obvious. You yelled at me yesterday and now you’re being really passive-aggressive.”

“True.”

A few seconds went by and the two of them simply stared into each other’s eyes, both inactive.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, voice high and smooth. “I shouldn’t have gone out with Jayce.”

“We’ve established that, yes.”

Harry’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Louis, _why_ are you making this so difficult?”

“What’s difficult?”

“The elephant!”

Louis frowned. “The _elephant_?”

“The elephant in the room!” Harry exclaimed, having lost his patience entirely. His eyes bulged on the verge of tears. “Do I really have to be the one to address it? Do I _have_ to say it?”

Goddamnit.

Even though Louis knew exactly what the elephant was a symbol for, he still wasn’t entirely convinced. Because Harry knew Louis was being a jealous coward. It practically didn’t matter that Jayce had ruined the whole thing because Louis had, as previously established, predicted this whole scenario from the start. It was the fact that Harry had decided to _go_ that upset him.

“ _What_ do you have to say?”

Harry sighed in despair. “That I … That if _you_ had been the one…” he choked up on the words out of terror, inhaling anxiously. “If _you_ had been the one, who tried to kiss me, I—I wouldn’t have pushed your head away.”

Louis’ heart flipped upside down.

“And um, that’s why I shouldn’t have gone out with Jayce.”

The silence stretched around them, warmer and more foreign than any other type of silence they had encountered before. Watching Harry interiorly and exteriorly freak out, ghostly bleached and wide-eyed, was unfamiliar. He had seen him shamefaced before, but not by the same token.

“But what about the bunny?”

Fucking idiot! Yeah, this must’ve been Louis’ most ridiculously idiotic moment. Right there, their interaction had felt like the finale of a high school film, where Harry had put his heart on silver platter for Louis to take. Then, Louis was supposed to deliver the most heart-wrenching phrase of the entire movie. However, he had chosen to speak of a goddamned fluffy bunny.

“How I feel about you has nothing to do with the bunny,” Harry hummed, still curled-up and feeble. “Let’s focus on the elephant.”

“Okay,” Louis said.

More silence.

“You’re _impossible_.”

“There’s mice, I think,” Louis hummed but regretted it when he witnessed Harry’s frown. “The elephants are scared of mice. C’mon. That’s a common animal fact. Hello, Einstein of zoology?”

“The elephant is scared?”

Realising his metaphor made no sense, Louis said, “Okay. That was dumb. I’m sorry.” He paused again. “The elephant in the the room is that we like each other, right?”

Louis’ heart was drumming so vigorously that he could barely focus on Harry’s softening face.

He continued, “And I’m the one who’s scared, I guess, but I’ve confessed now, so—“

In the midst of three, four or five rhythmic heartbeats, Harry had caught Louis’ open lips with his own, softly enough to feel his hot breath press a pair of muffled words into Harry’s mouth. They came out as a gruff moan, mostly out of surprise, which gradually mixed with flowing delight. This delight made his lips secretly curl as they rolled against Harry’s and collected whatever sweetish, expensive taste that lingered from his dinner.

With crushed lips, Louis muttered, “Harry, we—“

“Stop talking,” Harry grunted over him, pressing with more force to gain contact with his warm tongue.

But Louis couldn’t _stop_.

“Thank God for that elephant,” he muttered wetly into their kiss, blindly mushing his fleshy lips against Harry’s over and over, humming against him when the boy giggled hotly into Louis’ mouth. “Should we name him, too? Eric the Elephant?” Harry grunted, fingers curving around the nape of Louis’ neck while Louis’ pressed into the roots of Harry’s hair. “Elijah? No.” Harry’s palm pressed harder, his lips sucking around Louis’ warmer ones. “Mm. Eduardo, maybe? That’s exotic—“ Their tongues meshed, the graze pressing out a moan from them both. “Oh, yeah. Eduardo it is.”

“Shut up for one minute _please_ ,” Harry murmured, lips glossy and bruised as they released the softest chuckle. “You were so quiet before, what’s happening?”

“It’s my jitters,” Louis claimed, repeatedly surprised as Harry moved in for the second time, gasping to combine their tongues in a smooth, warm collision. “Dear Lord, we’re _kissing_ ,” he muttered as a nervous reflex, which made Harry grunt and gently claw his fingernails into the side of Louis’ neck. “Sorry, I’ll just—“ There, Louis maneuvered, sinking deep while fisting Harry’s curls and inhaling as his nose pressed closely against Harry’s. “Mm. There. That’s good.”

Eventually, the kiss was finally building, merging into something mellow, earnest and slightly desperate, without appearing aggressive. It was _happening_ and it was slow, but the type of slow that Louis would like to stay in for eternity. The type of slow that would just move, without effort, and taste like a mixture of heaven and all those risky goodies and sweetmeats Louis would usually avoid at all times. Anyhow, he wasn’t planning ever avoiding _this_.

“You taste like coffee,” Harry whispered in between kisses before licking calmly into Louis’ mouth.

“I know,” Louis mumbled and enveloped the outside of Harry’s lips between his own, gently squashing them before pulling away with a soft smack. “That’s why you had to get used to the bitterness.”

Harry buzzed into their next kiss, grabbing Louis with both hands while inhaling to save a great chunk of air to carry through the following twenty, breathless seconds.

“You’re such a—”

“Perfect kisser?”

“Fool,” Harry huffed in unison, nuzzling the tip of his nose into Louis’. “You’re a goofy, stupid fool. You repeatedly call me Einstein, yet you think I’m dumb enough to never have noticed that you fancy me.”

Louis hummed. “Really? It’s obvious?”

“You _must_ be joking.”

Feeling Harry’s calm pulse beneath the pads of his fingers, Louis chuckled faintly and elbowed into the mattress to move closer. He moved his hands to Harry’s silkily soft fringe, combing through the curls with ease.

“I know I’ve been ridiculous,” Louis said, Harry nodding with wide eyes, which added smiley crinkles next to Louis’. “One moment I’m trying to impress you. The next, I’m pretending not to care.” His nose wrinkled. “Actually, no. I’m always trying to impress you. Does it even work?”

Harry smiled toothily. “Your stupidity impresses me.” Louis rolled his eyes and tutted his tongue, smile identical to Harry’s in width. “But when it comes to your obvious flirting, enthralling muscles, and irritatingly immaculate face, I’m not so sure.”

“ _Enthralling_ muscles?”

Laughter bubbled from Harry’s chest. “ _Do not_ mock me. Stop acting like you didn’t know of this already.” Louis pinched Harry’s cheek just after it pinkened. “Ow,” Harry cooed, smiling. “Hey, why did we stop kissing? I really liked—”

Mimicking Harry’s previous actions, Louis interrupted his speaking by catching the words into his own mouth. He gently cradled Harry’s jaw for leverage, treating him delicately as if he was made out of porcelain.

“Wait,” Louis pulled away, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “This is still a _friend-thing_ , right?”

Harry’s face crumbled as he fell into a chorus of giggles. “ _This_ was never a friend-thing, and it never will be.”

“Tell me _more_ ,” Louis urged with half-lidded eyes and brushed away the curls that had just dropped down after Harry had pulled away from the wet kiss. “What are we if we aren’t just friends?”

Grasping his fingers around Louis’ collar, Harry bit down a smile. “A bit more?”

“More?” Louis teased him. “What’s that? The _bestest_ of friends?”

Harry hesitated, tilting his head. “On the side, I guess.” As Louis’ smile looped into a thin-lipped arch, his brows heightened due to curiosity. “What? You are my best friend, I think. Nobody’s closer to me than you are. Am I not your best friend?”

A frizzy curl circled around Louis’ idle thumb. “I guess you are.” During the brief pause, Louis’ eyes narrowed smugly. “So we’re _best_ friends, who make out and stuff?”

“Are you trying to pressure me into saying it?”

“I don’t know, am I, Einstein?”

Harry’s hand caressed over the side of Louis’ neck, thumb brushing over the juncture of his jaw. “We are—” Harry stopped himself, blushing when Louis’ eyebrows jacked up again. “Bo—Boys. Friends. Boys that are friends?”

“Boys. Friends.” Louis arched a brow.

“Boyfriends,” Harry concluded simply, tugging Louis close by the neck.

Finally, Louis’ toothy smile made a return before he nipped at Harry’s lips. “That’s all I had to do? Kiss you a little, and then magically you’re my boyfriend?” His eyes wouldn’t stop glistening. “If I had known it’d be that easy, I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“I guess so,” Harry hummed, pulling gently at the strands of hair at the nape of his warm neck. “That makes you my first, I suppose.”

“Your _first_ boyfriend?” Louis repeated, his eyes bulging subtly. “Are you kidding me? You’ve never dated? Like, _ever_?” Harry shook his head, his lip bitten down. “Sorry, you look like _this_ and you’ve never had anyone?”

“It’s not always about looks.”

Louis thumbed down Harry’s bottom lip just when Harry stopped biting it. “Evidently it’s not about kissing skills either,” he paused, his finger slipping down from Harry’s lip to watch it wobble back in place. “Because yours are first class, darling.”

“Really?” Harry’s face shone with pride. “I’ve only made out with three people.”

Louis’ facial features stilled with stupefaction. “You’re fucking _kidding_ me.”

Mirth shook Harry’s frame, dimples gnawing into his cheeks. “It’s the truth. I’m an introvert and I never meet new people ‘cause it’s not my thing.”

“I don’t care. It’s—It’s still shocking.” He dropped down to seize the opportunity and smoothly peck Harry’s lips, humming happily into the touch. “This means I’m the _third_ person to get my saliva over you”—Harry’s nose wrinkled—“but I’m the _first_ one to ever date you.”

“Depends on how you interpret the word _date_ —”

“Fucking _Jayce_ , I forgot.” Louis’ face stilled after frowning. “Wait. Have you been on more than one date?”

“Yes. I also went on one with the second person I ever kissed,” Harry said, his finger sliding over Louis’ eyebrow to brush the hairs in place. “Maddie set me up with him, we made out after dinner, but I didn’t like it so we didn’t continue dating.”

“Glad you didn’t. I don’t mean to interrogate, but since you’re storytelling already, who else have you kissed?”

“A stranger on New Year’s Eve.”

“So that’s everything?”

A comfortable sense of tranquility fell over them, Harry’s smile lengthening shyly while his finger played with the feathery hair of Louis’ left sideburn.

“There’s one more story.”

“But you said _three_ people.”

“Because I didn’t count tonight,” Harry explained, looking down for a brief moment before adding, “There’s my first kiss, too. That’s the third guy.”

Louis’ eyes squinted. “The glee on your face tells me I don’t wanna hear this story.”

“There’s no glee on my face.”

“Please. Your eyes are _sparkling_.”

“Okay, yeah. But that’s only because my first kiss is the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

Fucking _shit_.

“Ouch.”

“You’re second best,” Harry crooned and Louis quickly rolled his eyes. “It’s a toughie, I promise. If you knew the whole story, you would understand. Evidently.”

“Are you _challenging_ me?”

A tight-lipped smile settled on Harry’s face when he watched Louis’ mouth as it magnetically drew close. By now, the graze was firmer, its pressure pumping a sweet moan out of Harry’s mouth. Easing back, Louis formed a space between them in order to release an erotic gasp. Harry’s pupils dilated with curiosity, Louis’ lips curving as they overlapped Harry’s. Their snogging swiftly altered into supple pecks.

“Do you smell that?”

“What? The Lemon Lavender?”

“No,” Louis crooned. “The plants. I’m pretty sure it’s columbine, coral honeysuckle—” He paused, faking the hesitation while pecking Harry’s lips over and over. “Or maybe it’s bee balm?”

Harry just smiled.

“Those are the scents to lure a hummingbird with,” Louis continued in a hum, even though he knew Harry was fully aware of it. “Did you know?”

“Mm-hm.”

Appearing smug, Louis once again combed his fingers through Harry’s fringe. “Congratulations, Harry Styles. You’ve lured your hummingbird.” They smiled while nuzzling their noses together. “He’s right in your arms. Honestly, though, I feel like it was the Lemon Lavender that, you know, bewitched the bird.”

Harry burst with giggles, his head jamming back into a pillow. Louis bent down closely, thumbing Harry’s dimple.

“Your cologne might be responsible,” Louis dipped his face into Harry’s neck to signify. “What’s the fragrance?”

“Just peppermint.”

“Mm,” Louis hummed into the musky skin, sucking in a kiss over his jugular vein. “You’re like one of those, um, fragrance sticks.” Harry’s arched one brow. “I suppose, a walking stick, you know, the animal? But you’re covered in peppermint, some floral shampoo and a trace of Lemon Lavender. Fuck, you smell so—” he halted and added another kiss to Harry’s neck, " _f_ _ucking_ amazing.”

“You’re so weird but I’m okay with it.”

Louis laughed against Harry’s jaw. “Seriously, though. How are you always so _clean_? Never mind—It’s because of your hour-long Jacuzzi baths, isn’t it?”

“I don’t always do that.”

“We should _do that_ together some time.”

A beat passed.

“Too soon. Sorry,” Louis panicked under his breath. “Forget I said that.”

“It’s fine,” Harry smiled. “You’re fine.”

 

…

 

“Louis, it’s _two_ in the morning.”

After their visit to the bathroom, Louis was one toothbrush richer. Moreover, he had learnt how to faultlessly exfoliate his face with the one cleanser he owned, thanks to Harry’s educational tutelage. Both feeling soft as a baby’s arse cheek, they had laid down only inches apart, their pillows concave under the weight of their temples.

“I keep ruining your routine,” Louis mumbled into the pillowcase.

The one cheek of Harry’s that was visible to Louis’ drowsy eye exposed an adorable dimple, which Louis was quick to place his thumb on. Touching Harry’s dimples seemed to have turned into Louis’ favourite activity. Other than kissing him, of course.

“You’re making my routine _better_.”

Louis smiled. “My throat is dry and sore from talking to you,” he croaked, fingers pulling gently at the curls at Harry’s neck. “Do you think I talk too much? I feel like you must be sick of my voice sometimes, because like, it’s always _there_.”

“Your voice is just fine,” Harry giggled in a slow pace. “Really nice, actually. It’s sweet.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis sighed. “You really laugh at everything I say.” And ironically enough, Harry’s little giggles returned, their warmth fanning over Louis’ lips. “I think it’s my biggest achievement for now. Must be exhausting for you, though, finding fun in everything.”

“It’s probably the main reason I’m this drowsy,” Harry said around a yawn, Louis smiling in admiration. “We never run out of things to say, and you’re so effortlessly funny.”

Louis wrinkled his nose, smiling. “I’m not that funny, Harry, you just fancy me.”

Harry’s cheeks warmed. “Might be true.” He drew in another breath, sniffling. “Anyway. I’ve loved this and I wouldn’t complain if this night was to continue forever, but I _really_ have to sleep.”

“Of course, sleepyhead,” Louis whispered and snuggled closer to kiss Harry’s mouth. “Let’s hibernate till noon.”

“I like that minty taste,” Harry murmured and Louis leaned in a second time to graze their tongues together. “So fresh.”

“I’m just as minty as you,” Louis laughed against him. “You just used my toothpaste.”

Humming blissfully, Harry nuzzled their noses together. “You’ve good taste, and you taste good. I’ve picked the right boy, it seems.”

There was one obvious obstacle hindering them from falling asleep. This in particular hadn’t hindered them before, but judging by the apprehension on Harry’s face when he gave Louis a prolonged once-over, Louis knew he was considering making a change: Harry wanted Louis out of his clothes.

“Can we—Are we going to—”

“Take our clothes off?” Louis filled in with a smirk. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“I—I know.” Harry’s fingers fiddled nervously, his cheeks blossoming in a roseate shade. “But now that we’re actually _together_ , it feels … different. I feel … weird.”

Smiling kindly, Louis arose from the pillow to settle cross-legged in his white tee and grey joggers. Smug and tousle-haired, Louis gently brought Harry’s hand into his own.

“C’mon, love. Sit up.”

Hours of laughing, kissing, tossing and turning in Louis’ sheets had wrinkled Harry’s baby pink button-up, which he neatened while sitting up ahead of Louis.

“I’ve seen your body before, Harry, and I really, _really_ like it.” As a soothing gesture, Louis’ words were soft and slow, successfully inviting a smile on Harry’s face. “If you want, I can undress you,” he suggested, “or you can undress alone, and I’ll close my eyes.”

Harry sighed through his smile. “It’s not about you seeing my body. It’s just—It’s the _concept_ of undressing that stresses me out.”

“Then try to relax. Remember, I don’t find it weird, I think you’re beautiful, and I really _want_ to see you undress.” The ease in Louis’ voice unwinded a sense of comfort that consumed them both. “There’s nothing weird about it. It isn’t awkward. It’s _lovely_.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, still appearing nervous. “You can undo them. My buttons.”

Both of Louis’ hands picked at Harry’s collar, a lopsided grin appearing. Even though he knew how to unbutton this type of dress shirt within _seconds_ , he willingly prolonged the process merely for dramatic effect. Maybe it was more _sweet_ than _dramatic_ , though. However, when he reached the fourth button and swung forward, Louis courageously fetched Harry’s lips between his own. Just as his tongue distinguished the spearmint, his fingers trickled down to the fifth button, eventually unfastening the sixth.

Louis’ mouth stayed attached to Harry’s when all buttons were loose, the deft movements of his hands skimming under Harry’s long-sleeved shirt. His hands reached the collarbones, wafting the thin material off his warm shoulders. Harry’s arms shimmied out of the loose sleeves, his fidgety fingers proceeding to the end of Louis’ top the very second he was out of his own.

Feeling Harry’s fingers on his sinewy abdomen, Louis broke the kiss, stilled Harry’s wrist and seized the end of his t-shirt. He pulled up before Harry could take action, because Harry _touching_ him, _skin-to-skin_ , could easily cause an accident inside Louis’ sweatpants. And Louis wasn’t sure Harry was ready to go all the way just yet. In fact, he was pretty sure he absolutely wasn’t.

“There we go,” Louis whispered, having tossed the tee aside, topless and terrified to accidentally expose the growing erection under the seam of his pants. There wasn’t an obvious outline so far, but Louis still considered hiding his thighs under the comforter highly necessary. “You’re gonna have to remove your jeans on your own.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened. “Are you—You’re not gonna, you know, sleep _naked_ , are you?”

“No,” Louis crooned while peeling down the waistband to his joggers. “Although, I’ve already done that with you unconsciously.” Harry nodded, looking embarrassed. “I bet I made a fool out of myself. Did you see—”

“I only saw your bum.”

Louis’ lips curled at the word choice, legs finally kicking out of the sweatpants. “Aren’t you a lucky boy? It’s a _nice_ bum, isn’t it?”

“Quite impressive.”

“Your body is impressive,” Louis told him, voice barely above a whisper. Letting his hand caress from Harry’s sternum to his navel, Louis tapped his thumb over Harry’s belly button until it caved in and his giggles erupted. “ _It is_. You’re beautifully slim and delicate, yet you haven’t worked out a day of your life since your lungs collapse after a fifteen-minute jog. That’s impressive.”

Harry’s giggle turned into a laugh at the mention of their jog. “Enough with the sweet-talk. What happened to sleeping?”

“I’m ready, are you?” Louis sing-sang and flopped down against his pillow, his bare legs stretching under the fresh linens. Despite the chaste conversations, Louis’ cock stayed firm, horizontal over his hip bone yet safely entombed under the thick, billowy comforter. Still and all, he was insistent on letting it remain hidden. “Come cuddle me. My chest misses your curly head.”

Snuggling from the side wouldn’t do any harm.

They were unnaturally quiet when Harry shifted to slip out of his navy-blue jeans. The denim material toppled onto the floor just as Harry’s limbs slid beneath the comforter, fully parallel to Louis’ body as he turned sideways.

“Sorry,” Harry quietly said, “I’m awkward.”

Louis frowned, curling his arm around Harry to guide him closer. “No, you're not.” Louis calmly palmed himself over the cotton briefs while kissing Harry’s temple. “You’re lovely like this, darling. All of this is lovely.”

Fetching the end of the comforter, Louis draped it over their bodies. Seeing as his boner wasn’t close to going down, he moved his palm to find Harry’s wrist and watched his cheeks flush as he guided it down to his own middle, closing their distance by attaching his mouth to Harry’s.

“See how lovely we can be?” Louis hummed after pulling away. They both smiled, the tip of their noses vibrating together when Harry’s belly lurched with giggles. Louis’ ogling was slow and polite as it skimmed over Harry’s body and left traces of fluster inside the glistening nerves underneath. “Don’t really want to close my eyes,” Louis said, his eyes stilling as they joined with Harry’s in the dark. “‘Cause this feels surreal, and I’m afraid it’ll go away if I don’t keep looking at you.”

Harry looked up, green, tired eyes achingly enlarged to watch Louis’ smile. “Me too.”

In contrast to the obsidian black ambience that engulfed them both, a sparse amount of glaze was creeping into the narrow slit in the gaping bedroom door. The faint effulgence fell over Harry’s face, allowing Louis to watch as his feminine eyelashes fluttered each time his eyelids would gracefully drop and seal.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, voice barely audible, while Harry sleepily hummed into Louis’ shoulder. “My little Einie.”

 


	6. buster the bunny

 

Faint choruses of distant birdsong awakened Louis way after dawn, the daylight fighting to infiltrate through the thick, ashy curtains.

Since Harry’s palm was flat on Louis’ abs, slack and gentle whenever Louis’ breaths would surge in his stomach, he was half-apprehensive to move. He remembered Harry telling him that his ideal man doesn’t wake him in the morning because that, according to him, was rude. For this reason, Louis simply waited until he’d gained the courage to discreetly move Harry’s arm aside and soundlessly slipped out of the boy’s fondling grip. Stepping down on the floor, Louis found his joggers tangled up in the linens and kicked his legs into them before tiptoeing out of the room towards the wide kitchen.

Thirty minutes of preparation was all he needed before returning through the door while carrying a wooden tray. Brisk refulgence cascaded between the window frames when he shoved the curtains aside, finally sneaking up next to the double-bed before silently sitting down at the edge of the mattress.

As the luster polished Harry’s milkily smooth skin, Louis threaded his fingers into his curly fringe, Harry’s eyelashes mildly fluttering.

“Please don’t sleep for three years like the snails,” he whispered, thinking Harry wouldn’t hear him. However, after noticing the curling of Harry’s lips, Louis recognised his lack of success. “Aw, no, did I wake you? I was gonna wait.”

Opening his dog-tired eyes, Harry found Louis’ half-naked frame and observed the decked tray between them. A hint of awe pervaded Harry’s facial features, his nostrils flaring drowsily to welcome the earthy, palatable scent of the Mocha Latte and Louis’ much stronger espresso. Their steaming cups were joined by two side plates, both laden with a portion of scrambled eggs each, one adorned with crispy bacon strips, and the other with ripe tomato slices.

“Since you wanted a breakfast-tray, I got you one,” Louis droned with crinkly-eyes, admiring Harry’s stunned reaction. “Hope you like eggs and bacon.”

“I was _kidding_ about this,” Harry croaked, words gruff and barely coherent. He sighed and met Louis with a smile. “Why are you so goddamn sweet? Do I have to be an angel in return? Scratch your back, or something?”

Louis’ lips coiled into a circle. “A back-scratch sounds fucking marvellous.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

A sigh puffed through Louis’ smile. “Listen. There are no obligations. Sometimes I’m gonna do sweet things for you voluntarily.” He pushed the tray further up in the sheets. “That means you don’t have to do anything in return.”

Tangled up in the linens, the two of them ate breakfast, Harry’s fingernails occasionally clawing over Louis’ brawny spine. Caffeine and vastly salted eggs gassed up their energy and enlivened Harry’s droopy eyes, their chats and laughs growing more alert.

When Harry had slurped down the finishing swig of his latte, Louis stacked the cups together on the wooden tray and moved it down to the carpeted floor.

“Be honest with me?” Harry requested just as Louis returned to settle cross-legged in front of him, nodding after. “Are you into skater boys? The delivery guy?”

Louis frowned while smirking. “I thought I told you I said that for the purpose of small-talk. That wasn’t a lie. I’m not into skater boys.”

Whenever Harry’s cheeks effloresced from beige to pink, they were always _impossibly_ pink. So impossibly pink that Louis almost doubted his own eyesight. For all he knew, Harry could’ve dipped his head into a real-life snow globe, stayed in there for an hour, and returned with cheeks rosier than Rudolph’s fucking snout. _Impossible_.

“I’m just making sure.”

Harry’s snout wasn’t as red as Rudolph’s, but Louis reached out to pinch the bridge.

“Let’s put it this way. If Harry Styles put on a snapback, a shabby tank top and a ripped pair of jeans, I would probably be into skater boys.” Harry rolled his eyes, his head tilting. “ _Dead_ _honest_. I’ve seen you in a hideous purple cardigan and I can confirm: you do indeed look good in everything you wear.”

Harry pouted adorably. “You—You think my purple cardigan is hideous?”

“Darling.” Louis lazily lolled his head to the side, tugging at the cuffs of his joggers to peel the cotton over his heel. “You’re focusing on the wrong part of the sentence. I said you look good in every—”  
  
“Hideous?” Harry’s lower lip dropped even further, his arms crossing. “Really?”

“Calm down, Einie,” Louis sighed, his fingers fetching Harry’s wrist in the sheets. “Just because I’m not a fan of chaste cardigans and pullovers doesn’t mean I dislike you for wearing them. Your clothes are part of who you are,” he paused, slightly astounded to hear theses words coming out of himself, “and obviously, I really fucking like who you are.”

In a timid demeanor, Harry watched Louis through his eyelashes. “The pullovers too?”

“You’re overreacting,” Louis said and clutched Harry’s hand firmly. “I phrased it wrong. Personally, I wouldn’t wear your purple cardigan or those bright, vibrant pullovers. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.” As a token of Harry’s gratitude, he brushed his thumb over Louis’ where it hugged his hand. “Your socks however, are _marvellous_. Not something you’d find in my wardrobe, but I adore ‘em.”

Another sigh. “I just assumed—I don’t know.” He paused through embarrassment. “What did your exes wear? The black-grey-white scheme like you?”

Louis' stomach churned at the mention of exes, his brow arching. “I can’t put my exes in one category. They differ.” He paused, squinting his eyes. “And I’m not completely black-grey-white. I wore denim for you once.”

Harry smiled briefly, then chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. “Please don’t tell me there’s a whole list of people.”

“There’s a list,” Louis gave him a nod, which was followed by a bitter chuckle, “which starts with one person and ends with one other.”

“Two?”

“Two patronising pricks.”

Harry’s teeth let go of his lip before it dropped slightly in surprise. “Patronising how?”

Louis inhaled. “There was the high school sweetheart, who openly ditched me for a fitter alternative, and the druggie, who cheated five times before I found out.”

“ _Five_ times?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “He was two-faced. Probably had some disorder. That was um, when I was your age, though, so I’m very much over it. The other one, too.”

Harry’s eyes bulged. “You haven’t dated in four years?”

“Nope.” There wasn’t a specific reason behind the absence of boyfriends, aside from Louis preferring meaningless hookups over misleading, mentally abusive relationships, of course. “I haven’t been looking, or anything. With you, it just came naturally. Didn’t it?”

“Aside from the part where I literally had to force your feelings out of you.”

Louis pursed his lips. “Touché.”

Apprehension replaced the levity on Harry’s face, hesitation cramming the room with eerie silence. “Can I ask something personal?”

“Of course.”

“The day we got stuck in the lift, you had been with a boy earlier the same day. Who was he?”

“Nobody,” Louis said in a calm tone, his thumb caressing Harry’s hand as he clutched it even tighter. “I don’t even remember his name. It wasn’t anything romantic. We met at the club, he asked for my number and called me up the next day. That was everything.” While listening to the explanation, Harry’s cheeks had pinkened again. “It’s so embarrassing that you fucking _heard_ me. That sucks.”

Harry’s laugh returned, softer. “It’s not like it happened often.” Appearing shy, he scratched his neck in reaction to Louis’ smug grin. “Probably because I fall asleep before you.”

“One thing is for sure. It will never, ever happen again,” he answered, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter. “At least not when there’s a wall between us.”

The comment gradually inflamed Harry’s cheeks. “ _Louis_.”

“What?” he laughed, dangled forward and caught the back of Harry’s neck between his hands, planting a kiss to his forehead. “Does that make you shy?” His smile stretched in front of Harry’s red-faced scorn. “Aren’t you the most adorable thing?” Louis’ hand slipped from Harry’s hair to his warm cheeks. “Where have you been all this time?”

Harry bit back a smile. “Next door.”

“For one year, yeah.”

“You disliked me before,” Harry muttered, his cheeks remaining flat under Louis’ palms.

“ _You’re_ the one who disliked _me._  Whenever I saw you, you shot daggers at me.”

“‘Cause you were a dick.”

Louis’ chest swelled painfully with guilty conscience. “Which I should be apologising for.” He paused. “I’m so sorry. It was dumb. Thought you were gorgeous, but I was grumpy ‘cause I thought you hated me.” Shrugging again, Louis continued, “You did hate me, to be fair, and my defence mechanism was apparently to be a dick.  _Very_ immature.”

The boy with the rosy cheeks pouted adorably. “I had a crush on you all this time.”

“No,” Louis droned, knitting his brows. “That’s not possible. You _hated_ me.”

“Of course it’s possible,” Harry argued in the softest tone, his fingers playing with the strings to Louis’ joggers. “You’re so handsome. It didn’t matter that you were a dick to me, I was charmed anyway. I’m a _teenage boy._ ”

“Don’t belittle yourself.” The guilty swell over Louis’ heart softened in the slightest, his eyes apologetic as they scanned over Harry’s face. “I should’ve made an effort to be your friend back then. Everything just … went wrong from day one. Remember when we first saw each other?”

Rubbing and itching his forearm, Harry looked down and let go of the strings to Louis’ sweatpants to fiddle with his own hands. Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on whatever had changed in Harry’s body language, nor the reason it was there in the first place. After mulling over Louis’ sentence, Harry looked up again and nodded faintly.

“I came up on the fifth floor and you were at your door, lifting boxes into your flat.” Harry’s posture slackened, his eyes softening. “When you looked at me, I panicked, because you were so gorgeous and I was hungover, I think. So instead of stepping up to help you with those boxes, or simply introducing myself, I fucking stepped past and disappeared into my flat.”

Brushing his thumb back and forth over the back of Louis’ hand, Harry asked, “Was it actually because you thought I was gorgeous, or are you just adding that detail to be a good boyfriend?”

“Of course it was,” Louis crooned in a high-pitched tone, the same significant crinkles forming by his eyes. “Cross my fucking heart.” A finger of Harry’s spare hand floated to the area of Louis’ sternum. “There’s my heart, yeah. I see you’ve got anatomy under your belt.” After mimicking his smile, Harry drew two diagonal lines with his index finger, one line crossing the other. The gesture induced a giggle from Louis’ nose just as Harry’s hand flattened over the skin. “You really are the sweetest thing, Einstein.”

Harry’s pinkie swiped past the firm nub of Louis’ nipple, a shiver tickling through Louis’ buzzing chest.

“I need to call Elsa.”

Louis shuddered again as Harry’s finger once again padded over his pec. “Your aunt? Why?”

“Because this is happening and I feel like I have to tell someone.”

A chuckle passed through Louis’ grin. “Oh.” He picked a curl out of Harry’s eyebrow. “Then I’ll go ahead and ring my mate.”

“Sure,” Harry said softly, smiling.

Louis’ gaze seesawed between Harry’s eyes and lips. “Can I have a kiss first?”

Pink washed over Harry’s face. “What about morning breath?”

“Nuh-uh. Not an excuse,” Louis inched closer, his voice turning into a charming hum. “I’ve brushed my teeth since I got up and we’ve both had breakfast. We’re absolutely fine.”

The pink brightened when Louis swung forward, Harry’s thumb still resting between Louis’ pecs. To steady his aim, Harry placed a spare hand under Louis’ jaw and watched Louis’ mouth hungrily search for his own, eyes having fallen shut. A hand fondled over Harry’s hip when their lips locked together, grazing warmly to mix the caffeine from both ends. Halfway through, Harry felt Louis’ smile curling against him.

Louis quietly swore under his breath the second they pulled away. His eyes were shown in slits, gazing back at Harry’s, which never seemed to lose their bewitching glow.

“How on fucking earth did we go from low-key fighting to _making out_ in less than twenty-four hours?” he whispered.

Harry smiled, replying, “It’s all down to Eduardo the Elephant.”

 

…

 

“You’re _together_ already? That’s like, skipping seven or eight bloody steps!”

“I expected more of a cheerful response, to be honest. No congratulations? Alright, mate. Just yell at me, that’s fine.”

Seeing as Harry was in the adjacent room, talking to his auntie, Louis kept his tone low to prevent Harry from overhearing him. The iPhone was lazily pressed to his ear and cheek as he laid sprawled out on the king-sized bed while idly playing with the drawstrings to his joggers.

“I haven’t even met the guy yet. He could be an arsehole. What am I supposed to cheer for? You getting permanently laid while I remain alone, watching rom-coms and rubbish porn?”

“That’s _exactly_ what. It’s called sympathy. Ever heard of it, Gallagher?”

“You’ve got the wrong Liam.”

Louis lolled his head in the sheets, palming his billowing chest as it puffed with a sigh.

“Fine, Payno. So I’ve got a boyfriend and you don’t. Maybe go out for once?” A breathy groan rustled through the phone. “For the record, Harry’s not capable of being an arsehole. He’s the purest thing. Once you meet him you’ll be so jealous of me that your balls will turn fucking purple. Quote me.”

“Whatever. Call me after you two’ve fucked. That should be interesting.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Liam, you have no reason to sulk. You’re an attractive guy. Just go to a bar and you’ve easily got a match there. All you have to do is smile and flaunt your best Midlands accent. Always works, right?”

The absence of Harry’s distant voice distracted Louis’ thoughts when Liam continued complaining. He spotted him through the door frame, having placed his phone down on the couch. Louis cleared his throat firmly to interrupt Liam’s blabber.

“Look, I’ve gotta go. Good luck on everything. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, whatever. Bring your boyfriend next time so I can rate him.”

“He’s a ten. End of discussion. Ciao.”

Besides underwear, Harry only wore an oversized band t-shirt that he must’ve found somewhere in the back of Louis’ closet. He had also borrowed Louis’ MacBook, which’s screen he was gawking at when Louis joined him on the eggshell coloured settee. Dipping his nose into Harry’s neck, Louis sniffed and glanced down to observe whatever he was browsing at.

The images of Louis in body-paint were on display alongside narrow paragraphs of body text under the bold, serifed headline _The Nature of Creativity_.

“What a _handsome_ man,” Louis droned, and Harry tutted his tongue bitterly. “Joking. It’s all up now? Everything’s finished?”

“It is,” Harry replied, Louis swinging an arm around his middle as he continued to scroll down. “She just uploaded each reportage.”

“That’s amazing,” Louis commented, squeezing Harry from the side while observing one shot after the other. “Your aunt has a very talented employee.” Edging back, Louis watched Harry’s side-profile, admiring the single dimple and the delicacy of his shadowy eyelashes. “I think I fancy him.”

Harry turned, gawking down at Louis’ flirtatious lips. “I think he fancies you back.” A layer of natural lambency from the windows to the balcony blanketed Harry’s facial features, his cheekbone flaring in white exposure. “I mean, you’re the only human motive in his portfolio, which is also one sixth of this entire project. It must mean _something_.”

Louis’ head tilted. “I’m your first human motive?”

Harry’s lashes fluttered delicately. “Yes, you are. ‘Cause you’re the only human worth photographing.”

Tapping over Harry’s hip, Louis stared longingly into his emerald eyes. “That’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Einstein.” As Louis watched Harry’s rosy lips, they opened for a giggly smile. His gaze refocued on the emeralds. “Are you trying to charm me, darling?”

“I do that effortlessly,” Harry hummed with subtle nonchalance, Louis’ jaw dropping in a jokey manner. “What? _I do_. And you’re so goddamned easy.” Louis frowned grumpily as Harry shifted his leg to climb into his lap. “All I have to do is laugh at whatever you say, and you’re _ecstatic_.”

“Shut up,” Louis sing-sang, binding his hands to both side ends of Harry’s middle. “Those laughs are genuine.”

“I know they are,” Harry agreed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you get high on my laughter.” Finger-walking along Louis’ rib cage, Harry poked goosebumps into his smooth skin. “I’ve never seen somebody look at me like you do. It makes me feel sovereign.” Amidst his confession, Harry had leveled his head with Louis’ abdomen, his frizzy nest of curls titillating over his muscles. Harry sat perched like a shrimp, his ear peacefully listening to Louis’ slow heartbeat. “You always do.”

Each knot in Harry’s bony spine was lazily caressed by Louis’ index finger. Both smiled, Harry’s hand stilling on Louis’ hip bone.

“We should go to mine,” Harry muttered into Louis’ abdomen.

“Why?”

Louis could barely decipher Harry’s words when his glossy lips patted against his abdominal muscles as he murmured into the brawny skin.

“Are you talking to me, or my stomach?”

“Your abs,” Harry said, tilting his head to look up through his eyelashes.

Picking a curl away from Harry’s forehead, Louis released a breathy chuckle, Harry’s body rocking on top of him. “I can’t hear your mumbles down there.”

Harry’s lips attached to the space just below Louis’ navel. “Grasshoppers have ears in their bellies.”

“What?”

Once again, Harry looked up. “They have ears in their stomach,” he rephrased, observed the baffled look on Louis’ face and specified, “Grasshoppers.”

“Well, I am not a grasshopper, am I?” Louis grinned, gently fisted Harry’s curls at the back, and watched two graceful dimples incise into Harry’s cheeks. “Come here, love.”

It was Louis who gasped first when Harry climbed up to jam their mouths together. He skimmed his tongue against Harry’s to taste the caffeine that still lingered from their breakfast, earning an equally as whiney gasp from his partner. As Louis’ grip over Harry’s waist gently slackened, jumbling the fabric of his band t-shirt, their kiss diluted and modified into subdued, sloppy pecks.

“You’re full of surprises,” Louis murmured, licking his lips, narrow-eyed as he watched Harry soar above him while having his hands into the cushions on either side of Louis’ triceps. “Now, why should we go to yours? To feed the little bunny?”

In no time, Harry sat up like a deer caught in headlights. “I completely forgot that I left him all alone!”

“That’s nothing,” Louis monotoned and swung up parallelly with Harry’s posture to fetch his hips. “It’s a bunny, okay? I may not be fine without you, but he is.”

A frown crossed Harry’s face. “He still needs to be given water, fed and petted twice a day.”

“All right. We’ll head over. But what’s the initial reason? You never said.”

At flank speed, Harry swung his arms around Louis’ neck and pecked his mouth smoothly. “I feel quite stinky and I was thinking um, maybe we could, you know, take a bath in the Jacuzzi together. It’s air-jetted so it’s safe to have soap and shampoo in there.” As Louis’ eyes had widened in interest, Harry added a crucial side note. “We’ll have swimwear on, though.”

Smugness coated Louis’ face. “How are we gonna get clean if we wear swimming trunks?”

“We just,” Harry paused, shades of pink splashing over his cheeks, "do it inside the trunks, I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Louis playfully squeezed Harry’s hip and dipped close to kiss him firmly. “Let’s go bathe. For an hour. Sounds fucking amazing.”

 

…

 

“Well? Do I strike you as an Abercrombie & Fitch model? My shorts aren’t red, sadly, but these should work, right?”

Having changed into his black trunks in Harry’s bedroom, Louis confidently ambled into the fogged-up bathroom. The temperature had risen since Harry had activated the tub. Along a similar vein, Louis felt heat clinging at his insides when he caught Harry in bright yellow swim shorts, torso bent over the brim of the steaming Jacuzzi while adjusting the final setting at its side.

The younger, more colourful one out of the two, swivelled at the scene to observe his partner in the doorway, whose lips had parted in awe after spotting him.

“Oh. You look um, very nice,” Harry said and scratched his jaw, permitting Louis with a lengthened once-over before fixating on his face.

”Your swimming trunks are _short_ ,” Louis said, voice vibrating sharply against Harry’s chiseled jaw. The skin under Louis’ touch became clammy after getting fanned by his hot breath. “Do you wear these in public?”

“Not—Not really.”

A bat of an eye passed, where Louis’ fantasies danced away in an inappropriate direction. “Mm. Are you trying to impress me, dear?”

“Yes,” Harry answered on a shaky exhale, his muscles tensing up under Louis’ fingertips as they buzzed over the curve of his shivering skin. “Do you um, like them?”

“I do. I do very much,” Louis said and dropped his head with a sigh, lips landing on Harry’s collarbone. A mischievous finger trailed along the inside of the yellow waistband over Harry’s curvy bottom, soon sliding up again as if in a hurry. “Let’s just get inside. Okay?”

Harry was first to drop past the fizzing surface, his calves and thighs getting swallowed by the grum water. He shifted in his tracks, lowered himself and eventually plunged through the steaming bath to settle on the hidden underwater bench.

Louis’ big toe brushed over the sizzling bubbles.

“Fuck. That’s so nice.”

In due course, the tropically warm water pooled around Louis’ ankle, submerging his shin as it dipped low. Meanwhile, he noticed Harry fixedly observing him, fingers nervously playing with his bottom lip. The slightest force tugged Louis’ mouth into a smile.

“So this is how Harry Styles feels every other evening.” His black shorts wetly absorbed the gassy water surrounding him as he dipped down, knees bending against the flooring of the tub. “This is fucking _luxurious_ , love. Did you buy this on your own?”

“It was here when I moved in,” Harry shrugged when Louis gasped. As usual, Harry’s wholehearted chuckles followed.

They were both smiling once Louis floated forward to find Harry’s waist. The jets on the wall of the tub gushed over Louis’ fingers as they wreathed around Harry’s heated middle, Louis’ torso tucking in between Harry’s thighs.

“What movie is this from?” Louis hummed against Harry’s pointed jaw. His lips slipped down, seized at his neck and sucked a bruising kiss into the skin. “This is seriously way too good to be real life.”

The tiniest snort puffed from Harry’s nose, which was followed by a nervous mumble. “Why do you even like me?”

Louis’ mouth soared, his erotically enticed eyes levelling with Harry’s. “Did I hear that right? Did you just ask _why_ do I even like you?”

Harry leaned in, his steamy forehead flat against Louis’. “Yes.”

“Oh, Harry,” he sighed, water sloshing as his wrist flicked upward before wetly fitting around the side of Harry’s neck. “I may‘ve pretended to despise you at some point, but you’ve always been gorgeous, and I’ve told you that already.” His voice was much quieter and softer like that, when their faces were practically aligned. “Although, you’re also the cleverest, most sophisticated nineteen-year-old on Earth, and I admire that.” Joy tugged at Harry’s lips and Louis kissed them. “You also think I’m hilarious, and that’s refreshing.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled cutely. “That’s what I said,” he hummed. “So, if I was unintelligent and didn’t find you funny, you wouldn’t fancy me at all?”

“Yes I would,” Louis cooed. “If you were dumb, I’d feel sorry for you, because when someone’s brain’s messed up, they can’t help it, you know?” Harry’s dimpled smile broadened. “And if you didn’t find me funny, I would spend a decade or so, pulling jokes, being a fool, to eventually have you crying with laughter.”

There, Harry’s cheeks had pinkened. “Oh, only a decade?”

“That was just an estimation of how long it would take,” Louis answered, lips nipping at Harry’s plush ones. “Besides. Those aren’t the only qualities of yours that I adore. There’s a whole _bag_ of qualities. A pick & mix.”

Harry smiled when he closed the gap between them, humming into the kiss.

“There’s one,” Louis pointed out, continuing in a slower hum, “You kiss like a heartbreaker, baby.”

Harry’s fingers played over Louis’ fuzzy sideburn as he giggled softly. “A heartbreaker? Is that positive?” Louis nearly swallowed his words into another kiss, gradually sucking the air out of him. Everything was moving in slow-motion, it seemed. “Hm?”

“It is very positive,” Louis confirmed in an easeful whisper, his thumb tilting Harry’s wetted chin upward to quietly marvel the nescience in his malachite-esque eyes. “You kiss me like I don’t stand a chance.” He continued earnestly, tone nearly inaudible, “As if it comes easily to you.”

They were millimetres apart when Harry licked his lips, his tongue almost swiping past Louis’, too. He swallowed faintly, his index finger brushing over Louis’ earlobe.

“I guess I’m good at improvising then,” he breathed out. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

Louis swiped a finger over the tiny mole at the side of Harry’s chin, tapping over it as they listened to the humming sound of the jets spurting and surging underwater while massaging into Harry’s lower back.

“You’re pulling me deep in,” Louis filled in, ever so quietly. “I don’t know how you do it, Harry, but I feel like I’m being enthralled.” There was a faint chuckle between the sentences, which reinvited Harry’s deepest dimples. “I want to be, though.” He gently fetched Harry’s free hand and brought it to his lips, placing soft kisses over each knuckle. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Harry’s fingers curled, his wrist twisting under Louis’ touch until he could reach out to poke the tip of his partner’s nose. Louis felt his eyes adjusting after he’d blinked and smiled in adoration. Finding an atmosphere more tranquil than this one would be nearing impossible. Ergo, he wouldn’t have minded to stay like this for an eternity.

“Am I the first to share this with you?” he asked, calmly skimming his hand up the side of Harry’s ribs. The boy nodded, Louis’ sense of pride immediately expanding. “Am I the first,” he paused to gather Harry’s face and steady his gaze, “to touch you like this?”

Harry’s eyelashes wavered before he inhaled and nodded a second time.

“You’ve never—“

“Never. None of it.”

Louis’ lips were parted, movements still as calm and tranquil as earlier. “That’s okay,” he promised as he’d noticed the shame in Harry’s facial expression. Their lips touched, just barely. “Harry, it’s totally fine. There’s _nothing_ wrong with that.”

Harry gulped, throat bobbing. “I just, haven’t been, out, a lot. I haven’t met—“

“Gorgeous, you’ve no need to explain yourself. No obligations, remember? So what if you’re a virgin?” Harry winced slightly at the word. The water dashed as Louis brought the wet hand to use both to cup Harry’s face. “Don’t be ashamed. I won’t _ever_ judge you. Not even for your purple cardigan.”

Harry sniffled through a chuckle. “Okay.”

“Do you get it?” As Harry’s gaze had dropped, Louis earnestly searched for eye contact. “It doesn’t matter to me, nor is it something I would judge you for.”

After a second sniffle, both of Harry’s hands rounded Louis’ neck. “I just thought it would, sort of, make you look at me differently.”

“It doesn’t.” Louis brushed their noses together, awakening Harry’s smile. “It feels great, though. Knowing nobody’s been here before me. There’s no one to envy.” Just after pausing, he added, “Apart from that bloke who was your first kiss.” A happy, teetering sigh puffed from Harry’s mouth. Louis narrowed his eyes with a slight tilt to the head. “Have I beaten him yet?”

“You have.”

“Truthfully?”

“You’ve always been the best one.” Harry’s fingers tapped in a row over the back of Louis’ warm neck. “Maybe I,” Harry paused and shrugged one shoulder, “just wanted to make you jealous. Ever thought of that?”

Louis’ eyes squinted again. “You cruel, cruel boy. There was enough jealousy going on last night. I thought I’d lost you to Kutcher.”

“Well. Look who I’m taking a bath with,” Harry answered and Louis jokingly turned his head to search for a second person. Another laugh rolled from Harry’s throat before he swayed forward to encircle Louis in a tight hug. “It’s you,” he crooned, in spite of the obviousness.

“Thanks for clarifying,” Louis joked.

A wave surged behind Louis’ shoulders as he swung back, enveloping Harry’s middle to carry him backwards. As Louis’ knees balanced on the ground, Harry’s legs weightlessly tucked around Louis’ waist underwater.

“Will you stay over tonight?” Harry asked in a pleading tone. “I can cook dinner. It could um, be our first date, maybe.”

The tip of Louis’ nose brushed up against Harry’s as Louis’ eyes radiated amusement.

“ _First_ date? What did you think all my coffee invites were?” Harry’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Not official dates, maybe. They were definitely official in my head, though.” Silence engulfed them, the water wavering as they swayed together. “A dinner-date sounds lovely,” Louis filled in. “As long as you wear that apron when you cook for me.”

“You like the apron?” Harry smiled shyly.

“I’ve fantasised about you in an apron,” Louis admitted, quite daringly. He was dauntless, and Harry was easily flustered. “ _Only_ an apron, though. Very naughty of me.”

Harry eyes were bulged, his cheeks flaming in a sheer, dewy shade of red. The discernible expression gave Louis the urge to overlap one of Harry’s blushing cheeks with one hand, cupping it gently. Moreover, he planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose for good measure.

“Sorry, Einie. Don’t mean to alarm you,” he clarified, his thumb stroking over the apple of Harry’s warm cheek. A droplet of water trickled onto the skin, resembling a tear as it tumbled down to meet his jaw. “Your idea really sounds lovely. Of course I’ll stay.”

“You don’t alarm me,” Harry made clear, one hand letting go of Louis’ neck to carefully slide down his front, seizing over the right pec. “It’s just that um, the thought of you, thinking of me … in that way … hasn’t really crossed my mind before.” Another droplet danced over his cheek, and Louis’ thumb wiped it. “Of course I’ve … thought about you … like that. I just haven’t ever considered you … having those same feelings, about _me_ , I guess? Yeah, whatever. You get me.”

Louis quirked a brow. “You’ve no idea, young man.” Harry smiled, appearing curious but remaining shy. “No freaking idea.”

Even though Harry was certainly holding back, his facial expressions and body language showed conclusive evidence of thirst of knowledge and experience. He wasn’t afraid to touch Louis’ body, for one thing. This thought came to his mind when Harry’s thumb stroked over the nub of Louis’ nipple, presumably feeling it go firm under his touch.

“I will be ready soon, I think,” Harry mumbled, smiling to himself while watching Louis’ nipple just below the effervesce water surface.

Louis’ arms both returned to encircling Harry’s slender middle. He smiled earnestly while leaning in for a sweet, longing kiss. It ended when Louis pulled away with a whisper:

“No pressure, love. I’ll wait however long.”

Harry reconnected their lips to return a deeper one; slower, with more tongue. “Good,” he mumbled into Louis’ mouth. As they parted, he stayed close, lips nearly brushing against Louis’ as he spoke. “I’m glad I’ve got a hummingbird and not an eagle, or something else scary.” The phrase earned a genuine chuckle from his boyfriend. “I’ve picked the right species, surely. The caring kind.”

“Of course,” Louis agreed. “He’s earned his honeysuckle.” To signify, Louis’ lips sucked Harry’s into a supple kiss. “The sweetest kind.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed friskily. “The _sweetest_? How’s that, Mr. No-Sugar?”

Louis’ arms hugged Harry tighter, tongues sliding deep together in a slow, warm dance.

“Addictive. Think I’m sugar high.”

Harry’s smile stretched. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

…

 

As an aftermath of Harry’s homemade lasagna, Louis’ belly felt like a balloon on the verge of popping. But this didn’t stop Harry from resting his head upon it when they were snuggling on the couch.

Another episode of _Atypical_ was ending when Harry fell into a slumber, Louis’ fingers twisting in Harry’s newly dried fringe. Just as Netflix recommended the following episode, Louis fetched his iPhone from the coffee table and connected his Spotify to the Chromecast in order to play The Fray’s self-titled album on shuffle. A mellow guitar-picking intro opened the track [_Happiness_](https://open.spotify.com/track/5dgJxyBNbmtKWaIXUaLnpn?si=v2N0sStTRG-PQbglr5pB4A) fluttered through the speaker’s to the TV, Harry’s eyelids slowly batting as he awakened.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Louis droned, his fingertips tapping lightly over Harry’s hairline. “I know it’s only eight but we could head to bed early.”

“Hm,” Harry’s lashes quavered drowsily as he slurred, “I need to give Buster his dinner…”

Hesitation settled over Louis before he lifted a brow. “Did you just call your bunny _Buster_? Buster the Bunny? Is that his name now?”

Giggling briefly, Harry rubbed his eye and squirmed under Louis’ arms. “He’s Buster because he looks like a Buster,” he said around a stretching yawn, smiling as soon as his lips sealed. “It’s not because you suggested the name.”

“ _Fuck off,_ ” Louis muttered and tightened his arm around Harry’s middle just as the boy was on the brink of escaping. He embraced him tightly while Harry laughed raspily into his ear, writhing in attempt to break free. “You little shit. You’re obsessed with me and you can’t even admit it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Harry laughed and Louis wrestled Harry’s limbs until he was halfway on top. “ _Louis_!”

“You’d do anything I tell you to, wouldn’t you?” Harry attempted tickling Louis’ sides, but Louis quickly seized both his wrists and pinned them down to the cushions. “I thought you said the name Buster was _unoriginal_?”

“I told you!” Harry said through his chuckles, dimples carving deeply. “He _looks_ like a Buster! That’s why!”

Finally towering Harry from above, Louis lowered his smirking face to edge even closer to Harry’s. “All bunnies look the same.” The comment made Harry frown, so he rolled his eyes. “Fine. They’ve different fur, but what the fuck else?”

“Some of them have ears that stand up but Buster’s are the type that hang down.”

“Quote me if I’m wrong but Buster the Bunny in _Tiny Toon Adventures_ and Buster in _Arthur_ both have those ears that stand up. How could yours, with ears that hang down, possibly _look_ like a Buster?”

Harry’s belly shook with laughter under Louis’ torso. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re a little liar,” Louis argued with an accusing facial expression, hiding his smirk behind his teeth. “Just admit it, Harry.”

“Fine. You guessed it.” Harry’s smile remained bright, Louis’ accusation having set fire to his cheeks again. “He’s called Buster because you suggested that name. And I’m obsessed with you,” he finished, his tone becoming haughty. “Are you happy now, Mr. Narcissist?”

Louis squinted his eyes, smirking. “Don’t mock me as if it isn’t true.”

“Okay. I do like your muscles.” Harry wriggled one wrist out of Louis’ grip and daringly slid a hand under Louis’ freshly washed v-neck, fingers padding over his strained abs. “That’s what you wanna hear, right? Should I comment on your eyes, too? Those gorgeous jewels?”

“Stop doing that,” Louis laughed, finally.

Another yawn rounded Harry’s mouth, his eyes watering at the corners. “I will stop giving you compliments, that’s fine. You don’t need an ego boost anyway. You already know you’re handsome.”

“That so?”

Elbowing into the cushion, Harry heaved himself up to catch Louis’ jaw with his palm. He slowly pecked Louis’ smirking lips, his thumb stroking over the warm cheekbone above.

“Mm-hm. My boyfriend’s an egoist.”

“Am not. Go feed your fucking bunny.” A frown settled over Harry’s face and Louis immediately backtracked. “Didn’t say that.”

Harry pouted adorably. “Why do you hate him? It hurts my feelings. He’s completely harmless.”

Tipping forward, Louis let their noses touch. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t hate your fucking—” He blinked, backtracking again. “I don’t _hate_ your bunny. Why would I hate a bunny?”

“Well, you refer to him as my _fucking_ bunny.” It was always strange when Harry swore. Nothing about it fit under his personality, but Harry loved it. Because the only reason Harry occasionally swore was because Louis always did. “And you were also mad at me after I adopted him. Which was _really_ strange, by the way.”

Louis sighed through his nose. “I don’t hate _him_. I hate the reason why you got him.”

Harry’s eyebrows jacked up. “What does that even mean?”

“Listen,” Louis droned and tucked Harry’s fringe out of the way. “A while ago, I accidentally overheard you talking to Jayce about pets, and he told you to pick a bunny.” Something changed in Harry’s eyes, and Louis shrugged one shoulder. “Not long after that, you came to my door, having adopted a _bunny_. So basically, I—I was sure you had a crush on Jayce.”

“Lou,” Harry whined. “Just because I took his advice on something doesn’t mean I _fancied_ him.”

“I know. I know, I know. It was dumb.”

After briefly hesitating, Harry added, “Although, I did take your advice on the name because I fancy _you_.” As he was confessing, his voice became softer. Obviously, Louis was back to smiling. “It’s a stupid name.  _So_ unoriginal. But it just—It makes me feel like he’s _ours_.”

“Jeez. Are you gonna propose to me?” Laughter rolled out of Harry’s throat and Louis snugly slid between Harry’s legs, picked up his thighs and heaved the boy into his lap. Hugging him breathless, Harry smiled into Louis’ hair. “It’s only our first day of dating. We’ve gotta slow down.”

“I don’t wanna slow down,” muttered Harry, Louis’ arms loosening around him.

As Harry’s legs enveloped Louis’ brawny middle, stillness overflowed their surroundings as if time had reduced in speed. It almost seemed as though Louis’ gaze had never been more mellow when it observed Harry’s facial features after he’d spoken.

“Me neither. Not really.”

“Then let’s not. Let’s do whatever we feel like doing and simply not _care_. Every day.”

“Yeah? You know what I feel like doing?” There was that moment of hesitation, where worry flashed over Harry’s face and Louis chuckled to himself. “Where’s your imagination taking you?”

“Somewhere inappropriate,” Harry whispered, smiling shyly.

Louis poked his nose. “Why don’t we go to bed and like, make out for an hour or two?”

“Sure. But first, we _have_ to feed Buster.”

“Right. Let’s go feed our baby bunny.”

 


	7. tingly and explosive

 

The following weekend, Louis spent two and a half hours exploring the shopping mall with his friend Liam. They were in Intimissimi, where Lana Del Rey’s voice hummed from the ceiling speakers, when Liam discovered the more exclusive aisle of the men’s section. A lacy end of a pair of panties balanced on his finger.

“Wow. These are a thing now? Outside of porn?”

Louis plucked the wine-red piece from Liam’s hold to read the label. “These are designed for women. Someone must’ve misplaced ‘em.” He placed the hanger back onto its hook, rummaging through the briefs hanging underneath. “Don’t you sometimes wish we lived in the twenty-fifth century, or something? Surely lingerie for men will be normalised by then.”

“You can still buy ‘em for your boy,” Liam said while searching behind layers of basic boxers on the lookout for something interesting. “Who cares if they’re meant for women? Fuck the norm.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with wearing women’s clothing as a male. That’s great.” He flipped a pair of grey underpants over by the hanger. “What pisses me off is society forcing these options on us. Luckily I’m comfortable in these”—he waved the piece between them before dropping three pairs into his shopping basket—”but if I’d been more keen on wearing lingerie, I suddenly have to break a norm? What’s that all about? Why aren’t we all allowed the same options? It’s two-thousand-and-fucking-nineteen. Haven’t we learned _anything_?”

“Go off, bro. You should start your own underwear company where everything’s unisex. You’d make a good salesman.” Louis laughed faintly and collected another three pairs in white, Liam picking up the panties again to turn them over. “Honestly I’m really into this. Like, on a partner. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I am. Definitely.”

A mischievous smile took over Liam’s face as he stretched his arm out to flaunt the hanger in front of Louis’ face.

“I don’t have anyone to give them to. When’s Harry’s birthday? Would he be into these? Maybe for Valentine’s Day?”

The thought of Harry and lingerie combined had crossed Louis’ mind several times before. Mostly during their late-night cuddles, when the only fabric in between them would be the cotton of their boxers briefs. He would wonder how it would feel if Harry had been wearing lace when Louis snuggled him, and the mere thought made him gulp.

“C’mon, Liam. I’m not gonna buy lingerie for my boyfriend of one _week_. Besides, his birthday is in February, and so is Valentine’s Day, you dumbfuck.”

“I would buy them if I were you. It’s a good icebreaker for the relationship.”

“Either an icebreaker or a creepy gesture,” Louis answered while exiting the aisle to browse over the next. He collected five pairs of athletic socks and tossed them into the basket. “Besides, he would think I’d be trying to pressure him. That’s the last thing I wanna do.”

“Aw. Is he shy about it?”

“Fuck’s sake.” A chuckle rolled from Louis’ throat as he adjusted the furry collar to his denim jacket. “We’re not having that conversation, Payno. He’s my partner. Not just some shag. I’ve got some respect.”

“What a fucking gentleman,” Liam chimed and followed Louis down the end of the aisle where Louis studied a pair of ankle socks. “Boyfriend-you is mad different. It’s like you’ve changed from Scar to Mufasa.”

“How on earth am I usually _Scar_?”

“That was a terrible simile, sorry.” Liam’s brows wrinkled when Louis dumped another three pairs of ankle socks into his basket. “Good Lord, Tommo. Are you replacing your entire underwear drawer, or what?”

“Sort of. I really feel like renewing my entire closet. I’ve been getting more tired of everything I wear ever since I started hanging out with Harry. It’s fucking annoying.”

“Who _is_ this boy? Is he changing you? Is he actually the protagonist of a chick flick and you’re the bad boy he’s fixing?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “He’s making me reconsider things, but I don’t necessarily think I’m a bad person. I got him, so there’s obviously _something_ I’m doing right.”

The mellow hum of the speakers was interrupted by Louis’ ringing iPhone, which chimed in the ringtone [ _Constellation_](https://youtu.be/wHSqnkY8FQ0). He placed the basket down to check the display, which showed the picture of Harry from his balcony. Liam gave him an excessive wink when he accepted the call and Louis dramatically rolled his eyes.

“Hi, love,” Louis spoke into the phone, voice much softer than a couple seconds earlier.

“Oh. That was quick,” Harry answered in a raspier voice, as if he’d just woken up. Louis bit his inner cheek to prevent a smile. “Hi. Are you at home? I’m outside your door.”

“I’m at the mall, actually. With Liam. Did you need me? We’re nearly finished here.”

“No, no. It’s nothing important, I just—I just miss you, that’s all.” There was a pause where Louis crouched down and pretended to examine another pair of socks, just so that he could get a moment to himself, smiling while picking at the price tag of a knee sock. “ _God_. Sorry. I don’t want to be clingy but I just—I just am,” Harry slurred. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re not clingy. We’ve barely seen each other this week, so I relate.” His voice lowered as his eyes met the floor, studying the muddy toes to his sneakers. “Can’t believe how lonely I was before all of this. It’s crazy.”

“Me too. It has changed my life already. It’s like I’m a pregnant woman with cravings, but cravings for—for like, _you_.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled, his smile lengthening. He heard the sound of a door airily slamming through the speaker and assumed Harry had returned into his flat.

“I feel the same, Harry. Just the same.”

Fingers tapped over his shoulder. Apparently, Liam had scurried over to the ladies’ section and returned with two pairs of knickers. The ones in his right hand were black with straps attached to the lacy waistband, while the ones in his left hand were hot pink with lacy floral patterns. Liam weighed both options up and down in hopes of Louis picking a favourite.

“I should hang up if you’re just getting finished,” Harry spoke and Louis swatted one of Liam’s calves, which made him wince. He received a grimace in return, and Louis fought back by attempting to punch his friend’s crotch before Liam backed away. “Louis?”

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah,” he replied, standing up and straightening the black t-shirt underneath his jacket. “By the way. If there’s anything you’re looking to buy I could just pick it up before we leave.”

Liam arched a brow and waved the black pair of knickers in the air. Louis rolled his eyes, laughing silently while waiting for an answer.

“That’s nice. What are you buying?”

The faintest, most childish and immature blush touched upon Louis’ cheeks. “Just um, underwear and socks, really.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, and Louis felt the tiniest amount of weight prodding anxiously at his shoulders. Liam was watching all the while, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah. You could get me underwear. Like, five pairs?”

Liam mouthed a ‘What’s he saying?’ that Louis ignored while returning to the aisle they had been in five minutes earlier while discussing men in panties.

“Sure. What kind?” Louis asked, mostly to see the exhilaration on Liam’s face. “There’s a lot to choose from, actually. You’re thinking something colourful, I’m guessing?”

A pause occurred, where Liam bounced on his toes in anticipation. “Actually,” Harry started, slower in pace. “Why don’t you pick for me?”

“You want _me_ to pick?” Louis rephrased, simply for the sake of his friend hearing him.

His palms heated up at the thought of Harry’s suggestion, as well as the look on Liam’s face. Time and time again, Harry would make him feel like a sexually desirous teenage boy. They were just having a conversation about goddamned _underwear_ , but the excitement to it made it so thrilling that he could scream.

“Yeah. That’s not weird, right? I just figured, maybe you’d have a specific preference. I’d love to wear, um, something you’d like.”

Something pulled at Louis’ heart. It was incredible how Harry’s sentence could’ve been interpreted as a lot more sexually enticing only if he were to change his tone. Though, tackling underwear-talk seemed just as mundane as discussing groceries for Harry. It was almost as if the two of them were listening to two completely different conversations.

“All right, love,” Louis said. “I’ll pick something up and head back ASAP.”

After Louis ended the call, Liam had returned with another two options of knickers.

“I still can’t get him that,” Louis sighed and shook his head, smiling lazily.

Liam’s posture slackened as he grimaced in protest. “Then why were you asking him if he wanted you to buy underwear for him?”

“Because—I dunno, wanted to hear his reaction? Him wanting me to choose doesn’t mean I can freely pick the most bizarre piece in the fucking store. That’s still creepy.”

“You hyped me up for no reason.” An unamused frown touched Liam’s features as he dumped the lacy panties on top of one of the shelves before stubbornly palming both sides of his waist. “Always thought you were kinkier than me. Must say it’s disappointing to find out that you’re actually vanilla.”

“I’m not _vanilla_ ,” Louis argued, his eyebrows wrinkling. “Just because I don’t want to _buy_ him knickers doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him in them. I _am_ kinkier than you. You’re lazy. You probably have zero variety.”

“Does Harry know this side of you?”

Louis scanned through the varying options in front of him. There was one line of pink and blue leopard print, one with stripes in turquoise and navy and one in yellow with red flowers and a waistband in a matching colour. He turned on his heel, spotted five pairs of slim fit boxer briefs in differing shades blue. It was an adequate pick. Extra points for _slim fit_ , another couple points for _colourful_ , and minus points for fucking _boring_. Manageable.

As they exited the aisle and strode towards the cash register, Louis smirked. “No, he doesn’t know this side of me. He’s in for a surprise, I guess.”

 

…

 

Finding Harry sunken down at Louis’ doorstep made his heart swell with warmth. The eyes that were glued to an iPhone flicked up when the lift tinged open, Louis exiting with a shopping bag dangling from his fist. He must’ve been waiting for twenty minutes or so.

“Hi,” Louis chirped, tossing his keys forward before they clinked when Harry clutched them.

“Hey,” Harry replied and turned the key in the keyhole while Louis stepped up to place a hand on his shoulder. “How’ve you been? Good day?”

The door opened by Harry, and Louis followed him inside, kicking out of his shoes while letting his fingers slide down Harry’s warm spine (since it was nearly impossible to avoid touching him whenever he was within reach).

“It’s been good. Haven’t seen Liam in a long time, so it was great. Could finally gossip about my lovely boyfriend and such.”

Harry smiled at the floor, moving his shoes aside before standing upright to help Louis remove his jacket while he shimmied to slide the shoulders off. It clearly wasn’t necessary of him to assist, but Harry seemed to share Louis’ urge of nonstop touching.

“How are you? You look tired,” Louis commented softly, distinguishing the weight of Harry’s eyelids when they blinked. His curls were slightly tousled and he wore a military green jumper, which was approximately two sizes too big.

“I fell asleep really late and woke up like an hour ago,” Harry mumbled while attaching the furry collar of Louis’ denim jacket to a coat hanger and placing it into the built-in wardrobe in Louis’ wall. “Feel terrible now.”

“Oh, no. C’mere,” Louis beckoned him, extending his arms to invite him inside.

Harry edged close and embraced Louis entirely, his oversized jumper hugging around the material of Louis’ long-sleeved top. The highly regarded peppermint from Harry’s cologne mixed with the scent of the detergent from his clothing when Louis dipped his face into Harry’s neck to snuggle closer. It tickled Harry slightly, which was why a breathy giggle slipped into Louis’ ear.

“You should just sleep over every day. I’m not used to being alone anymore,” Harry hummed, calmer. “I always end up lying awake, picturing you there.”

“That’s why you feel terrible?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep without you.”

“Even after a bath?”

“Even after a bath.”

Louis was still rubbing Harry’s back when he pulled away from the hug. “Poor thing. I’ve missed you loads, too. Even if I was you the day before yesterday. Preggo cravings.” They both smiled when Louis paused, his back-strokes slowing down in pace. “Fuck, I’ve cravings for an espresso as well.”

Harry cupped Louis’ cheeks. “If you make us some, I’ll order lunch, yeah? I’m _starving_ and I have no energy to cook right now.”

“That’s lovely.”

Flattening a hand on Harry’s neck, Louis pulled him closer. Simply leaning in made his heart race, eventually jumping energetically at the collision of their lips. The first kiss in approximately fifty hours thankfully filled the void that had been created by Harry’s absence. To Louis, those kisses would always resemble the very first one. But today, Harry tasted of minty toothpaste instead of faint yet flavoursome remnants of his dinner.

“Think I’m actually preggers,” Louis joked, returning to lick into Harry’s mouth. Ergo, Harry released the lightest chuckle through his nose, and Louis once again spawned space between them, saying, “You’ve impregnated me. Can you believe that? A _man_? Through _saliva_?”

“If we were able to do so, I would be the pregnant one, for sure,” said Harry, whose hands had slid down to Louis’ jaw.

Louis’ glossy lips formed a toothy smile as his nose nuzzled together with Harry’s. “What makes you say that, hm?”

For all time, Louis could easily put colour into Harry’s cheeks. As if he used a paintbrush he had mastered his whole life, painting in all varying shades of red and pink. However, this time, it was almost as if Harry had painted his cheeks by himself when he stated the previous phrase. Louis wondered whether Harry regretted letting it slip, or if he found the subject just as amusing as himself.

“It’s just a feeling I have,” Harry answered, going in for another kiss, turtoiselike in pace. Surely, he was trying to avoid further discussion, so Louis let it pass.

 

…

 

The water-shore had glued grains of sand between Louis’ toes when his feet pattered over the thin, foamy waves that washed over the oceanfront.

A breeze touched over his wetted ankles, just below the rolled up cuff to his denim jeans. Harry was beside him, collecting sun-bleached seashells into his palm while avoiding the soggy parts of the ground that Louis’ feet was clapping into.

Most of their Saturday had passed as the horizon had split the burning heart of the sky in two. Some of its colour transmitted in a broad stripe over the centre of the rippled surface of the ocean, the remaining shades painting the sky artistically in reds and yellows.

Only twenty minutes had passed, and it was already getting chilly. May was coming to an end and the temperature wasn’t yet summerlike. Thus, they were both dressed in their spring jackets and nicely fitted trousers. Harry wore a plum coloured jumper underneath, which he’d tucked into the waistband of his skinny black jeans.

Layers of sand coated Louis’ ankles when he stepped away from the shore to edge closer to Harry, flinching through a shiver as the breeze tackled the insides of his black bomber jacket.

“This is romantic,” he said, his arm rounding Harry’s shoulders as they walked. “I feel like we’re in a rom-com.” He watched Harry’s smile broaden, and his thoughts proceeded. “Liam thinks you’re changing me. For the better.”

Harry’s eyes blinked and Louis’ hand slid down to find Harry’s and intertwine their fingers. The younger one squeezed his hand right away, letting them sway between them as they walked through the sunlit breeze.

“We’re in _Pride & Prejudice _ then. The one you thought was unrealistic. Have you gone through the same transformation as Mr. Darcy? Arsehole-to-sweetheart?”

Louis’ brows wrinkled. “That’s still unrealistic. I’ve never been bad enough to be called an _arsehole_.” Harry laughed breathily and Louis cocked a brow. “You disagree?”

“No,” Harry cooed, squeezing Louis’ hand again as his toes kicked masses of sand where he walked. “You were just bitter before. Sweet when you wanted to be. Now, you’re effortlessly sweet.”

“So that’s the end of the rom-com,” Louis implied. “What happens now?”

Harry’s eyes soared, following two black-and-white birds that left the surface of the water to meet the cliffs, both landing with a squeak.

“We fall in love.”

Louis’ heart leapt in his chest, eyes searching for contact with Harry’s. Though, the boy was still focused on the birds. Louis wondered if he had even realised what he’d said.

“We—We what?”

“Louis, look! They’re razorbills. Remember them? The mini penguins! They’ve landed to breed. See them?”

Louis’ eyes shifted to see the seabirds as they pattered over the surface of the cliff, flapping their wings while seemingly dancing in a circle.

“Oh, yeah. From your pictures.”

They had halted in the sand, both quiet as Harry continued to watch the razorbills before they leapt and disappeared into a crevice.

“Should we go home?” Louis asked, stepping in front of Harry to place his spare hand on his hip. “We should head back to the car at least, before somebody steals our shoes.” Harry smiled and nodded. “Hey,” Louis breathed, pondering over how to phrase the following sentence. “You said um. I mean, you just—You said we’re falling in love.”

“Yeah?”

Louis blinked tardily. “So you mean that? You’re, um—You’re falling? For me?”

The wind touched Harry’s fringe in a whirl, tossing it diagonally as a soft-lipped smile developed on his chilly face. His plum jumper met the front of Louis’ bomber jacket, his arms enveloping around Louis’ middle. Beside his arched smile, his pinkish cheeks formed dimples that distracted Louis’ vision.

“I don’t know what falling feels like,” Harry began, “but I’ve never felt like this with anyone, so I assume I am. Falling for you.”

Another breeze clashed over them both, Harry’s curls flopping when Louis’ palmed Harry’s pink cheeks with both hands. He calmly kissed his nose, tucked a chocolate curl behind his ear and stroked a thumb over his sunkissed cheekbone.

“M’falling for you, too,” Louis hummed and witnessed the glee in Harry’s eyes. “Really quickly, as well. You’ve pulled me in fast.”

Harry’s nostrils flared in a smile before he dipped close to warmly overlap Louis’ lips with his own. Their mouths entwined, firm yet mellow as they moved with tranquility.

“Let’s go get our shoes before a badger takes ‘em,” mumbled Harry.

“Yeah,” Louis hummed, neared Harry’s mouth again and kissed it while swaying him in his arms. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

 

…

 

Although spending every night with Harry allowed an endless supply of perks for Louis, there was one disadvantage:

Louis had lost all ability to masturbate before falling asleep.

The two of them would always doze off in a tangled knot, one resting on top of the other, most often with Harry mumbling drowsy slurs into Louis’ pecs or shoulder. His bed was firmer but bigger than Harry’s, and regardless of its size, the two of them solely occupied one fourth of the mattress. Perhaps it was the lack of clothing and skin-to-skin touches that almost kicked Louis’ desires past their limit.

Despite the pitch-black condition to Louis’ bedroom, he could decipher that Harry was wearing a pair of the boxer briefs he had purchased for him earlier the same month. The cotton was smooth against Louis’ thigh, brushing the skin lightly as he moved in his sleep. Both of them had lost touch of the comforter, and the hefty outline of Louis’ cock in his white Calvin Kleins was far too distinguishable for him to let it stay like that, in case Harry were to randomly awaken.

As Harry breathed drowsily into Louis’ collarbone, he carefully moved aside with one elbow, heaving himself upward to calmly climb out of bed. He fetched his navy dressing gown from the nearest armchair, shimmying into it before soundlessly sneaking outside into the common room. Keeping his footsteps light, he slipped inside the bathroom, closed the door and locked it quietly.

Lifting the toilet lid, Louis folded down the elastic waistband under his aching balls and watched his swollen cock sway heavily after having lost the tight fabric of his boxer briefs. His thumb played lazily over the slit to collect the precum the very second it pumped out.

He hadn’t climaxed in seven days. Seven _days_. It must’ve been a record and it was easily noticeable. It was flushed angry, almost purple in some areas.

He tipped his head back, used the precum as lubricant while firmly bobbing his hand over the shaft, steadily focusing his fist over the upper half and the shiny head. Tingles were teasing all the way from his groin to the very tip, tempting him to speed up and hold tight. Each stroke was better than the last, the friction easing him closer to his release. It was going to be quick, he realised. So he sped up even further, in spite of the stinging friction, and moaned lowly under his breath.

When his cock twitched, he almost thought he’d tipped past the edge, but proceeded after glancing down to see himself even redder. His thighs vibrated in frustration, hand bobbing faster and clenching harder until he could feel himself nearing the end. He longed for it, more than he could remember ever doing, and choked on a whine in his throat, trapping it. So close, even closer, the closest and—

“Louis?”

He stepped back and let himself go in silent panic as the air thickened and got stuck inside his lungs and throat. The whine pushed through with the lightest exhale, emptying his chest while his face scrunched up in pain. He was _aching_. So badly.

“Louis, are you okay?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, louder than anticipated. “Yes, baby, I’m fine.”

“Is it your stomach?”

Louis frowned to himself. “There’s nothing, Harry. I’m just—I’m weeing.”

“Oh.”

There was a long pause, and Louis wondered whether he’d left and it was safe to continue.

“Babe?”

“Yes?”

Of course. Harry was waiting right outside, and Louis’ cock was still upright against his stomach. He groaned inwardly, tucked himself in, tied the furry belt to his dressing gown and unlocked the door to see Harry leaning against the wall, silently tapping over the iPhone that washed his face in white light. He looked up, eyes startled.

“Lou. You’re all red. Are you sure you’re okay? Are you feeling sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” Louis promised using his clean hand to palm the back of Harry’s neck. He kissed him briefly. “Go back to bed, all right?”

“Why? I can wait.”

Louis sighed through his nose. “You should be asleep. Don’t stay awake because of me.”

Harry's lips reshaped into a pout. “But I can’t sleep without you anyway.”

All he could do was to let Harry stay outside while he returned to the toilet seat, unleashed his cock and starting bobbing his hand again. The tap was on, running loudly enough to cover his sighs and gasps while he continued to chase after his longed-for orgasm. It was quick when it finally came, spurting out of him fixedly into the toilet water as he released a drawn-out gasp. He jerked languishly to make sure to empty out everything, and flushed the toilet afterwards.

He was completely out of breath when he washed his hands under the lukewarm tap, using some of its water to splash over his heated face. A towel was rubbed into the skin to dry off. Before exiting, he gave himself a glance in the full-length mirror and tucked everything in.

Just as he came out, Harry stepped forward and swung both arms around him.

“You’re still red. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” Harry tapped his fingers over Louis’ forehead and Louis smiled kindly while nodding. “Okay. Good.” Harry stepped close, kissing him gently. “Let’s go back.”

He could _finally_ fully relax.

 

…

 

**June, 2019**

 

 ****“So this boy clinged onto me, proper nice-looking, like, dark eyelashes, dark everything really, except he was kind of light-skinned. Fucking _gorgeous_. We made out for a while and then I asked him to come home with me.” Liam grinned to himself there, rubbing two fingers over his chin. “We fucked for like, two hours, mate. It was _crazy_. He was perfect.”

Louis sipped on his beer can, tossing an arm over the armrest to Liam’s couch. “How’d you last that long? When did you last get laid?”

“A month ago.” Liam shrugged. “He gave me head first, though. That might’ve helped.”

Louis muted the TV, highly bothered by the woman’s voice in the background. He fetched a cracker from the half-eaten package and let it crumble in his mouth as it soaked in the alcohol. After dusting off his hands, he swallowed and looked back at Liam.

“It’s been three months for me.”

Liam’s brows shot up. “Woah. What’s happened to _you_ , Muscle Man? You and Harry aren’t—“

“Still not going to talk about Harry’s personal life with you. That’s between him and me. Just saying we haven’t done anything yet.”

A beat passed and Liam eventually took two bites into his green apple, chewing with a mouthful as he proceeded talking.

“That’s tough. So, when do you think it’ll come up?”

“No idea,” Louis grimaced, pausing. “He almost caught me wanking the other week.” Just like that, Liam burst into laughter. “Not funny. It was _terrifying_.”

They sat in silence for a while, Liam smiling to himself while Louis anxiously munched on another salty cracker.

“I’ve got to head back,” he suddenly said and stood up, flattening the wrinkles in his jeans. “We’ve date-night at his in like, half an hour. Think I’m gonna get him flowers or summat.”

“C’mon, mate. Don’t be cliché. Go for panties instead.”

Louis gave him a warning look while striding towards the hallway. “ _You_ can buy panties for your hook-up. Did you get his number?”

“Yeah. Should I ask him out? He might not be looking for anything serious.”

“It’s worth a try, ain’t it?”

“Guess so. Text me a good restaurant? You know those things. Something healthy.”

“Course, mate. Good luck.”

Louis left Liam’s place with a sigh, the exhale containing of a mixture of envy and slight frustration. He had no reason to sulk, really, but waiting for Harry’s consent seemed endless, because that boy hadn’t ever even touched him from the waist down.

He hoped it wouldn’t be _too_ long.

 

…

 

”Got you chocolate eggs,” Louis spoiled the surprise even before exposing them inside the paper bag from the store. “Not fancy or anything but I know you like ‘em.”

“Aw, thank you,” Harry sung, fetching them from the bag to tear off the corner right away. He popped one into his mouth and cuddled up in Louis’ arms, chewing against him while Louis kissed his hairline. “Did you already have dinner at Liam’s? 'Cause I ate an hour ago.”

“Yeah, we had taco’s. We could just chill, right? I’m quite exhausted so I’d rather just lie down in bed. Up for that?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Contrary to Louis’ expectations, the concept of lying down in bed transposed into Louis lying supine with Harry fixedly straddling his lap. Sadly though, Harry’s headspace didn’t seem to be as sexually desirous as Louis’. He recalled his conversation with Liam, remembered _two hours_ and held his breath to stifle the many groans fighting to leak from his throat.

The lap-sitting was enough to half-distract Louis from Harry’s storytelling. He knew he was speaking of Maddie, but had lost track of the _why_. He kept nodding along until he felt a pang of conscience and shook his head to bring himself back to reality.

“... which is good, because she’s experienced and I need somebody to teach me things so I can impress you.”

“Impress me? Is that why you’re straddling me?”

Harry reached out for Louis’ slightly unshaven jaw, smiling gently. “I’m straddling you because I _want_ to. And because I’m feeling bold.”

“But you’re always bold.”

“ _With you_ , I am. But without you, I’m a scaredy-cat that arches its backbone in fear whenever it’s exposed to something new.”

Nodding gently, Louis threaded his fingers through Harry’s roots. “I don’t think you’re a scaredy-cat. For starters, you aren’t antisocial, or anything. In reality, you’re a _great_ social. Your kindness and social ability was the first thing I noticed about you, apart from your gorgeous face.” He pinched Harry’s nose mid-giggle. “It hit me that I had barely spoken to Birdie Osborne nor the Sugimotos, and you _knew_ them. You’re their favourite neighbour, for God’s sake.” Pausing, Louis stroked his thumb over Harry’s temple. “And me? They barely even know my _first name_ , do they?”

Throughout Louis’ speech, Harry’s feline eyes darkened and intensified some of their green tincture. “You always see the best in me.”

“There’s nothing else to see.”

Louis liked the sight of Harry’s lips jerking into an uneven smile. He also liked it when Harry’s hips flung forward and added friction against Louis’ strained crotch. His legs froze in position beneath Harry’s thighs, Louis balancing their faces at the same height before tucking Harry close for a slow-moving kiss. It built with time, drifted and switched with a firmer force. A subtle trace of chocolate eggs was detectable on Harry’s tongue. Louis sucked harder to obtain _more_. This spurred a suggestive grunt out of Harry, a signal which made Louis urgently pull away.

“Let’s not—Fuck, let’s slow down, all right?”

Harry chewed on his newly kissed lip, frowning as he felt Louis’ hand on his middle, gently beckoning him aside. He stayed, though, his steadfast fingers clinging onto Louis’ neck.

“Why?”

Louis’ glossy lips released a breathy chuckle, his voice turning gruff. “Because you’re on top of me. Kissing me. Not a suitable combo.”

“You—You don’t like this? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” Louis spoke louder. In the meantime, his upper half swung forward to meet with Harry’s, fingers fetching around the width of his sides. “You’re doing everything _right_. That’s the problem.”

Harry’s big eyes blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Louis drawled, his fingernails clawing onto Harry’s hip bones, “I wanna—” But no. The sentence was cut off by a panicked sigh. “There’s no way I can say this without alarming you or sounding awfully disrespectful.”

“I wanna hear,” Harry protested grumpily, and absolutely not, Louis couldn’t resist this one. “Say it to me, Lou.”

Midway through a minute of placidity, Louis had used his hands to tranquillise their circumstances through light strokes over Harry’s neck and cheeks. Under his gentle fingertips, the creases over Harry’s face softened until it was entirely inexpressive.

“I wanna fuck you,” Louis rasped, Harry’s muscles tightening. “For hours, and have you whimpering for me, in my ear.” All air had been trapped inside Harry’s throat, freezing his posture into stone. “I wanna take your virginity, make it worthwhile, fuck your gorgeous mouth, make you cry.” As he witnessed a crease on Harry’s face, Louis’ thumb stroked calmly over his eyebrow. “I wanna feel your sweat against my own, and fuck into your stunning body while you cum over your stomach.”

Harry’s cheeks were beet red under Louis’ caressing fingers.

“And?”

Louis shook his head through a bitten down smile. “And that’s all I can think about when you’re straddling me.”

Both of them laughed, Louis’ hands dropping to Harry’s middle while the boy swung forward to rest upon Louis’ torso. He would’ve thought this would lead to Harry tumbling down beside him, but apparently, Harry was adamant about staying fixed on top of Louis’ lap.

“I can’t describe to you how much I’m tingling on the inside right now.”

Louis shifted his arms to envelop Harry’s body, holding him in place. “ _Tingling_?”

“I feel tingly because you’re so attractive and everything you say in that voice makes me wanna explode. Somehow.”

“So many codewords, Einie. Tingly means horny, I’m guessing. And _explode_? Well, I can only imagine—”

Harry swatted Louis’ arm, interrupting him with a chuckle. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one thinking those things.”

As Harry’s curls tickled Louis’ nostrils, he sniffed the floral fragrance and felt his smile returning into Harry’s hair. He caressed his spine, kissed his roots and hugged him tighter to his torso.

“What is Harry thinking then?”

The boy’s giggles ruffled into the fabric of Louis’ t-shirt. “I’m thinking that I’m scared I’ll disappoint you.”

“What?” Louis fisted Harry’s curls at the back, tugging at his roots to look at him entirely. Thereupon followed Harry’s coy gaze and a firm gulping gesture. “You? Harry Styles? Disappointing _me_?”

Harry’s eyes rolled back, his hands stilling on Louis’ pecs. “I’m _inexperienced_.”

“Which I’m well aware of,” Louis answered and tilted up Harry’s jaw with his thumb and index finger. He dipped in for a kiss, both smiling as they pulled away. “You’re not gonna disappoint me. I _adore_ everything about you, and we both know you’re great at improvising.”

“But I wanna be good for you. As good as possible. I … wanna be your best.”

The ending whisper made Louis’ smile curl up further. “You already are.”

Despite his previous concern, Louis approved of Harry’s kissing when he eased close to enchain their mouths together. He felt swallowed up by Harry’s greedy aura, momentarily compelled to follow each one of his moves. So when Harry grinded up against Louis’ already swollen cock, he inhaled another breath, bucked his hips against Harry’s thighs, and kissed him harder. And since Harry was just as benumbed as Louis, he continued to gyrate his lower half over Louis’ cock, eventually massaging the sensitive head through three layers of clothing.

“Harry, Harry, darling,” Louis rushed to warn him the second he pulled away. “Stop moving. Gonna cum if you continue. Don’t make me. Not now. It’d be so humiliating.”

“Oh,” Harry blinked out of his reverie, panic-stricken within seconds. He shuffled back on Louis’ thighs, eyes apologetic. “I didn’t know—I didn’t realise—”

“It’s okay,” Louis reassured him, panting while collapsing onto the headboard, open-mouthed and awfully tousle-haired. “Let’s just—Let’s calm down.”

Heat clinged in the air as if they had turned up the radiator. Along with this, Louis’ heavy breaths and Harry’s frightened heartbeat seemed to be the only two contemporarily dynamic factors in the cramped bedroom. To change this, Louis reached after Harry’s hand until their fingers intertwined with warmth.

“Still think you’re gonna disappoint me?”

Harry’s thumb prodded over Louis’, his smile circling back to his face. “Not as much, maybe.”

“Babe, I’m _tingling_.”

Harry laughed melodiously, slapping Louis’ thigh. “Don’t you dare mock me.”

“But I’m about to explode.”

“I hate you.”

Chuckling softly, Louis swung forward to level up their bodies and take Harry into his arms again. He brushed through his curly fringe and placed a kiss there before pushing Harry over in the sheets, shifting in position until he was towering him while pinning down his forearms.

“I don’t think you do.”

Harry’s tongue swiped over his upper lip and Louis immediately dipped down to mesh their mouths together, Harry laughing into the sluggish kiss.

“Is this what you’d like? Me holding you down? Or you straddling me?”

Pink splashed over Harry’s cheeks. “I wouldn’t know,” he said under his breath. “How should I know?”

“There’s this thing called imagination—”

“Okay, fine. I prefer this,” Harry admitted with bright cheeks. “You?”

“Likewise,” Louis chirped and nudged his nose against Harry’s. “But I’m open to everything you want to try. Almost.”

“Like me wearing lingerie?”

Louis’ half-lidded eyes bulged at the comment, shining with blithe. “You—Are you—Would you do that?”

Harry bit back smile. “I was trying to get you to buy me a few pairs _weeks_ ago but you failed to connect the dots.”

“Are you serious?”

“ _Yes_. And you came home with normal boxer briefs and—”

“No, I know. Liam was trying to pressure me into buying you fucking knickers and I thought it would be a creepy gesture but—” He stopped himself, both of them falling into a chorus of laughter. “You should’ve just said it! C’mon. I’m not as clever as you, Einstein.”

“Whatever,” Harry said around a smile, craning his neck to press a kiss onto Louis’ mouth. “So. Lingerie is a yes?”

“The biggest fucking yes you can get.”

 

…

 

It was Friday when Louis’ client Brooke was having menstrual cramps again.

As they were both sprawled out over the vinyl flooring of the gym, Louis braided the roots of her platinum blonde hair. A half-hour workout was all they had managed to squeeze in before Brooke had collapsed to the ground and instructed Louis through the process of preparing a heating pad for her lower stomach. Ergo, the past fifteen minutes had been spent numbing Brooke’s uterus with heat while discussing relationships. The topic of Brooke and Lynnie had passed and now, they were onto Harry and Louis.

“Feels like I’m stuck inside an episode of _Black Mirror_. Everything’s going great. Perfect, actually. Mine and Harry’s life together—It’s like this utopian place. Most of the time, though, there isn’t a happy ending on that TV show. And I feel like a shitstorm’s about to emerge.”

Brooke tutted her tongue. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Our lives are a bit like _Bandersnatch_. We’re all given options and our choices determine where we end up.” Her head tossed to the side, which totally messed up Louis’ braiding. She looked up at him, seeming convinced by her own words. “As long as you keep making the right choices, I’m _sure_ your lives will remain utopian.”

“But it isn’t that easy. Harry has decisions to make, too. Anything could happen, you know?”

While Brooke mulled over Louis’ words, the lights in the empty gym hall fluttered but remained turned on. A trace of sweat mixed with the stale fragrance of Brooke’s sugared deodorant, the sound of yoga music from the adjacent room humming at the very edge of Louis’ earshot.

“If there’s no sign of danger, I don’t think you should worry,” Brooke told him, her fine-boned face scrunching up as she endured the ache of her cramps. “It’s different when you already can see it coming. My girlfriend apparently has a mate who’s hiding something serious from his boyfriend. That’s a _real_ sign of danger.”

Louis removed the hair band from his wrist and secured it at the end of Brooke’s braid. “Everyone has secrets, though.” The twenty-year-old grimaced and Louis tilted his head, clearly doubtful. “You’re saying you tell your girlfriend _everything_?”

“That’s not what I’m referring to,” she clarified in her Geordie accent. “This is a _big_ secret we’re talking about, something that involves him and his boyfriend both. He was afraid it would ruin ‘em, she said.”

“Okay then.” Louis divided her remaining hair into three sections before crossing them and beginning to tighten them into a second braid. “I suppose Harry and I are safe. My secrets mostly feature either masturbation or something else harmless. Nothing that’ll scare him away, I’m pretty sure.”

“I certainly don’t have to worry about Madalyn having a secret. She never stops talking. I’d be surprised if she has anything left to say by now.”

Louis’ fingers froze in Brooke’s hair. “Madalyn? I thought her name … was Lynnie.” A line formed between his thin eyebrows. “That’s—That’s her nickname?” The blonde girl nodded, her hand pressing down over the heating pad. “Madalyn? Did you say _Madalyn_?”

“Yes,” Brooke laughed. “Have you never heard the name before? What’s wrong about it?”

Louis sat upright, ignoring the questions entirely due to his speeding thoughts. “Your girlfriend Madalyn has a friend who’s hiding a _big secret_ from his boyfriend?”

“What are you…” She simply frowned, her lips parting as the confusion settled over her face. “Louis, what’s wrong? Why are you stressing?”

Two seconds was all it took before Louis was striding over the vinyl flooring, hurriedly heading towards the exit.

“Sorry, Bee,” he exclaimed as soon as he heard another question thrown after him. “Gotta go. Ending early today. Feel better soon, and say hi to _Maddie_ for me.”

 


	8. the oblivious-card

 

Moments after parking his Volkswagen Polo by the apartment building, Louis grabbed his cellphone from the outer pocket of his barrel bag and tapped Harry’s number. He chewed anxiously on his fingernails while waiting for the beeps to get replaced by his favourite voice.

And there it came.

“Hi, babe,” he heard through the speaker, the voice coated with surprise. “Taking a break?”

“Hey, no. I ended it early ‘cause my client wasn’t feeling good. Are you busy right now?”

As it turned out, Harry was just heading back from the grocery store, passing by Louis’ car with his iPhone balanced between his cheek and upheaved shoulder. To catch his attention, Louis honked the horn to his car, which made Harry jump in his tracks and squeal through the speaker, Louis chuckling in adoration. They hung up shortly after, Harry bouncing onto the passenger seat with a jam-packed grocery bag.

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry chorused and slammed the door, swaying towards him to reach for a kiss. “Come here, you rascal.”

Through a smile, Louis leaned in and briefly pressed their lips together. “Mm. Missed you so much today. How’re you?”

“Quite exhausted. My auntie hired a new employee who’s got the same position as me. We’re supposed to cooperate, but it feels more like competing. Mostly, I’m just afraid Elsa will prefer his work over mine.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Louis murmured against Harry’s wet lips. Fitting his jaw into his palm, Louis pinned his eyes on Harry’s greener ones. “Elsa loves you, and not only because you’re her nephew, but also because you’re amazingly talented.”

Harry exhaled through his nose. “Remind me to keep you around forever?”

They exchanged smiles, Harry pecking Louis’ lips thrice in the pace of a ticking clock. Resting his hand on the gear stick, Louis plunged back against the nylon backrest and freed a steady exhale. This was it. He needed to find out whether or not Lynnie was Harry’s Maddie before the thought would eat him up.

“Harry, I have to ask you something.”

This sounded terrible. As if he was about to break. As if he was on the verge of generating the tragic climax of their relationship. As if he had mustered up all his courage to utter this simple statement that would eventually trigger their first fight as a couple.

And Harry heard that, too.

“What?”

Three snow-white seagulls skimmed on air outside Louis’ panoramic windshield, squawking as they rounded the corner of the residential building to their right-hand side. Meanwhile, a blue Nissan Qashqai hummed into the entryway, Louis recognising it as the Sugimotos’. He tapped over the gear lever, turning to observe Harry’s fearful face.

“You’re aware you can tell me anything, right?”

With tranquility, Harry’s big eyes blinked, his lips releasing quiet breaths. “Yeah.”

There was a tiny hole in the vintage t-shirt beneath Harry’s lightweight jacket and a stain at the knee of his brand-new jeans. His fingers were fiddling there, scraping over the blemish while enduring the suspense of waiting for Louis’ following sentence.

“So, if there’s anything you’re afraid to tell me about—because you’re, I don’t know, scared of my reaction—I want you to know, I won’t judge you, or make fun of you, or get angry. It’s almost always worse to keep it inside.”

In time with the surging acceleration of Louis’ heart rate, Harry’s jaw clenched in worry.

“To me, it sounds more like you have something to tell me.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Louis droned, gaze soaring to watch the puffy, ever-changing cloudscape in the sky. “All I’m saying is, I really want you to keep me around forever, and for you to do that, we have to be completely open with each other.”

A fourth seagull that must’ve gotten lost from its flock intruded their calm atmosphere by cawing as it bypassed Louis’ car. Arching his neck, Louis riveted his eyes on the jittery fingers at Harry’s knee before dismally studying the rest of his distressed body language. Like the tense posture of his shoulders, or the continual chewing on his bottom lip. But even so, the most concerning feature was the petrified look in his eyes.

“We _are_ open, Lou. There’s nothing I have to say.”

And there it was.

A lie, or a solemn promise. Either one or the other. And Louis couldn’t know for sure.

He didn’t _want_ to feel pain gnawing somewhere deep in his stomach at the sight and sound of Harry denying it. Because maybe Harry simply struggled to open up about his past. Maybe Harry just wasn’t ready to tell Louis yet another detail about his lack of sexual experience, for instance. And technically, Brooke _could’ve_ been talking about a different Madalyn, or a different friend who struggled with honesty. Maybe there wasn’t even a secret at all. Anyhow, he still felt the pain gnawing somewhere deep in his stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice nearly faltering.

“Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.”

And goddamnit.

The thought of Harry lying was something Louis struggled to handle, because he didn’t know whether to be angry or feel bad for him. But after brooding over the alternatives, he decided not to take part in either.

Instead, he hid it all inside—which was, bear in mind, the opposite of his own advice—and let the conversation fade onto another subject.

 

…

 

Lazing about on Harry’s couch while wearing a peel-off face mask each, Harry and Louis chatted the evening away while munching on sour grapes and cracker crisps.

When Louis’ bare ankles tangled with Harry’s legs, he noticed the unique pair of socks draped onto Harry’s feet. The foreground over a light-coral background consisted of multiple prints of the various _Care Bears_. A smirk came to Louis’ face, Harry settling cross-legged in front of him, entirely oblivious.

“Harry, what are these socks?” His fingers brushed around the cotton fabric over the toes and the bridge of his foot. Before Harry could answer, though, Louis commented on a second discovery. “Fuck, your feet are cold. What’ve you done to these babies?”

“I know. They’ve always been cold. That’s why I always wear socks indoors. Sometimes even double pairs.”

“That’s strange.” Louis kneaded them both as if to chafe the chilly skin underneath. “Also, no, I don’t have a foot thing, a—a fetish. I just like your feet.” As Harry suddenly burst into giggles, Louis proceeded, “It’s true! It’s because of your socks, and how you—”

“That’s not why I’m laughing,” Harry smiled and fiddled with the strings to his sapphire hoodie. “I just can’t take you seriously with that on.”

“This?” Louis pointed to the white, moistened sheet plastered onto his face, Harry nodding blissfully while covering his giggle with one hand. In the meantime, Louis’ fingernails calmly tickled the underside of Harry’s left foot. “Believe me, baby. You look just as ridiculous as me.”

 

…

 

“Mate. Put on fucking sunscreen. You’re gonna burn your skin to death.”

Damp under ambient sunshine during noontime on a Saturday, Louis was sunken down in a folding beach chair alongside the scenic coastline of Cornwall. He turned sideways to Liam, who appeared much tanner through the sepia lenses of Louis’ aviators.

“No,” he replied, glided his feet into the sandy flip-flops and shouldered his beach bag from the armrest to his folding chair. “If I had known you were bringing him”—Louis motioned his head towards Liam’s date, who was kicking sand by the seashore—”I would’ve brought Harry, too. I’ve had enough of third-wheeling, so I’m leaving.”

Just as Louis had hung his twirled-up burgundy towel around his neck and folded together his chair, Liam’s companion came strolling in the sand to make conversation.

“What happened to buying pints, Tomlinson?”

“Another time?” Louis peered at the dark-haired stud over the top bar of his sunglasses, grimacing under the blazing sun. The twenty-year-old raised a black brow as if to question Louis’ choice of words. “My boyfriend’s waiting for me at home. He’s, um,” Louis paused to concoct a realistic lie, “working on this … photography project, and he wants me there.”

“Really? I’m a photographer,” Zayn, as his name was, declared. He shrugged one shoulder before correcting himself. “Well, I’m trying to become one.”

“Oh, Harry’s working for—”

“Harry? As in Harry Styles?”

“Uh, yeah.” Louis frowned, eyes squinting in bafflement. “Is he like, well-known in the photography business, or what?”

“He’s my coworker. I just got employed last week and we work for the same department. He’s excellently talented, though. It’s like he hasn’t done anything else his whole life.”

Louis smiled to himself, nodding cautiously while pushing his aviators up the bridge of his nose. He had known Harry wasn’t being reasonable when he mentioned doubting his own abilities, and this simply confirmed it.

“Do me a favour, Zayn?” The bloke nodded kindly while sitting down next to Liam on their shared towel. “Next time you see him, please tell him those things. He doesn’t believe them, and I know he looks up to his coworkers. Maybe you could save me some time trying to convince him he’s amazing?”

“Of course,” Zayn agreed, and Liam lazily put an arm around his shoulders. “I will do so.”

 

…

 

“ _Left early because I was third-wheeling and I’d rather be two-wheeling with you. Are you still at yours? Can I come back?"_

Harry’s response to this message was an accepting one, along with a long line of heart-emojis in different styles and colours. Louis was done smiling at it when he finally reached their floor and opened Harry’s unlocked front door without knocking beforehand.

He stepped out of his flip-flops and dumbed the beach bag beside them before striding inside, looking around to find him.

“Harry, darling?”

The bathroom door clicked open only seconds later and Harry exited while zipping up the fly to his way-too-tight denim jeans.

“Fuck, you look—“ Harry stopped himself when Louis’ hand moved to reach after his aviators. “No—Don’t take ‘em off.”

Louis’ hand slumped down. “What, you have a thing for these?” He smiled toothily and Harry’s body made a strange squirmy motion. “What are you—Do you need a wee? Didn’t you just come out of the bathroom?”

Harry simply stepped forward and removed the twirled-up burgundy towel from Louis’ neck to eventually strap his arms around it. He kept examining Louis’ face, eventually glancing down at his bare, slightly clammy stomach.

“How a human being can possibly be this attractive is beyond me.”

Louis smirked and kissed Harry’s lips, which evidently gave Harry shivers. “Babe,” Louis chuckled against him. “What happened while I was gone? What have you been up to?”

Before even obtaining an answer, Louis had figured it out halfway. Harry’s curls were watery in the roots and smelled of flowery shampoo, his mouth tasting of his fresh, minty toothpaste. Even though this seemed rather mundane, Harry was struggling to phrase his response.

“I’ve—I’ve played with myself.”

Louis’ eyebrows fetched up. “You—You what?”

“Played with myself,” Harry’s teeth formed a white line in his bottom lip as they pressed down firmly. “All morning.”

“Harry, don’t play games with—“

“No, I’m not tryna tease you,” he said, earnestly. It became clear that he found it difficult to continue, as his mouth kept opening and sealing while his hands languidly settled over Louis’ sun-heated abs. “I wanna remove your swimming trunks with my teeth.” It seemed as though Harry’s voice became raspier simultaneously with Louis’ suddenly quickening heartbeat. The following actions—like Harry brushing his lips along the side of Louis’ neck—didn’t exactly soothe him either. “Would you let me?”

With all sincerity, Harry’s method of seduction was surely Louis’ very own nemesis. To put it differently, there were no possible contingencies of rejecting Harry when he was behaving this way. It got even worse the second Harry eased back and gazed up at him, his unfathomably kittenish eyes successfully attempting to complete the persuasion.

”Are you, um—Are you sure?” Louis stammered even though he could tell Harry was entirely sure. To guarantee that he was though, Harry slowly nodded and calmly crouched down to his knees, a motion that could easily throw Louis off balance. “Harry, there are massive windows—Are we really—“ He stopped himself just as Harry’s teeth clenched around Louis’ waistband and he winced discreetly. “Okay, wow. Fine. We’re doing this. Can I please take off my sunglasses?”

Harry’s lips moved an inch away as he spoke, palming Louis’ hips. “Yes, but stop rambling.”

“Of—Of course.” Louis was fidgeting when he pinched the temples to his aviators, folded them over and tossed them onto Harry’s beige-brown, shaggy carpet. “You know, I um, might be a little sweaty down there—I mean, I was sunbathing fifteen minutes ago.”

“I don’t care,” Harry murmured against his groin. “Touch my hair?”

At first, Louis considered pointing out that Harry’s two phrases had rhymed, however, he held back because _no rambling_. In robotic moves, he followed Harry’s instructions and calmly slid his fingers in between his wetted roots, languidly grooming his curly fringe out of his face while Harry’s teeth and fingertips touched the inside of Louis’ black swimwear.

Harry’s dark green eyes were no longer focused on Louis’ sky blue when he began trailing down the polyester. Before pulling away, Harry brushed his nose over Louis’ trimmed pubes, still using his fingers to peel down the elastic waistband. The base of Louis’ cock was exposed, and Louis could’ve sworn he noticed Harry gulping. This was where the peeling stopped, because Harry had just realised what he was doing and needed a pause.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, really quickly, gulping afterwards. “Just overwhelmed. Everything’s fine.”

As a soothing gesture, Louis deepened the combing of Harry’s roots by letting his thumbs massage them against his scalp. It came as a relief, how Louis was suddenly more relaxed than Harry. The massage was certainly working, though, because when Harry proceeded tugging down Louis’ swimming trunks, he didn’t gulp or gasp. He simply pulled them down in one go and curiously observed Louis’ cock as it dangled, semi-hard and slightly red-swollen.

“Fuck,” Harry swore to himself (Louis had never heard a cuter way of cursing) and watched Louis step out of his trunks, one leg after the other. “That’s—That is insane.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” Harry whimpered faintly, still staring fixedly in shock. “I want to. You want to. I just have to—to um, take it slow.”

To be fair, the two of them must’ve had completely different interpretations of the word _slow_. Because it was merely three seconds later that Harry’s fingers reached out to curl around the hefty base, hugging around it firmly. To get used to the feeling, Harry stroked in reverse, fingers gently rubbing over the sensitive, jutting veins. It took him a moment to figure out how to continue, since his nerves were presumably wild, sprawling in places he wasn’t even familiar with. He showed another gulp along with a shaky sigh, his wonkily moving wrist picking up the pace.

“Hey,” Louis whispered, suffocating the gasp that attempted wafting out of him.

Harry seemed insecure when his chin tilted upwards, eyes finally meeting Louis’. If he had been able to read Harry’s mind, this would’ve been a suitable time to do so, because maybe then he would be given an instruction of how to soothe his nerves and anxious thoughts.

“You’ve no reason to be nervous. Everything’s gonna be fine. Take it slow, like you said. I’m right here.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Harry sighed faintly.

“What?”

“You’re right _here_.” Harry’s hands dropped to his denim-clad thighs, his usually feline eyes appearing more puppy-like under their flustered shine. “I don’t wanna mess up, or—or embarrass myself. Your opinion means too much to me. I just, wanna be good for you.”

Something touched over Louis’ heart. He slowly crouched down to Harry’s level, the flowery scent of his shampoo seeking its way to his nostrils. Harry’s cheek was flushed and warm under Louis’ touch when he cupped it gingerly, edging close to peacefully roll Harry’s closed lips over his own. They kissed slowly, perhaps slower than they had ever done, Louis easing back when he’d noticed how Harry’s panicky breaths had reduced in pace and quantity.

Thenceforth, Harry’s facial features had softened with ease. They both smiled calmly.

“You’re always good for me. That’s my opinion.”

The second time around, Harry’s wrist-motions weren’t nearly as rickety. His fingers tightly encircled the girth, leaving Louis entirely breathless where he stood, physically unbalanced and mentally overthrown. Evidently, Louis’ comforting words had reinforced Harry’s level of confidence. Hence, his fingers were deliberately fixed as they tugged over Louis’ cock, gradually speeding up to the sound of Louis’ trapped, close-mouthed moans.

“Oh. There’s…” Harry slowed down, staring fixedly at the tip when the watery pre-cum pumped out of its teeny slit. He looked up through his lashes. “Should I—”

“Yeah, spread it out,” Louis panted, too impatient for Harry’s infinitely slow phrasing. “Make it slippery.”

Feeling Harry’s thumb stroke over the wetted head made Louis gasp, his teeth sharply boring down into the tip of his tongue. Even the smallest details fired tingles throughout the length of his shaft, each and every one of his hormones jumping with exhilaration.

Since the precum wasn’t nearly enough to cover him entirely, Harry had decided to add another form of liquid. This substance tortured Louis’ insides when it slowly dripped down from Harry’s glossy bottom lip to gradually glide down the swollen cock under his fingers.

“Good idea,” Louis hummed under his breath, mentally screaming in adoration as Harry skidded forward on his knees to slobber even more. The saliva dribbled down his chin before perfectly lining Louis’ length in a stripe that was soon dispersed by the underside of Harry’s index-, middle- and ring finger. “Ah, fuck. That’s nice, Harry.”

He was entirely layered up when Harry started working his hand over the girth again, the back-and-forth movements giving away an enticingly sloppy sound. The saliva was drying but Harry added more, his tongue drooping when the spit leaked down and renewed the lubrication for Harry’s sped-up strokes. They were more sped-up then, becoming rickety again. Although, _rickety_ was actually useful when Harry’s fingers were slippery and had accustomed to the angle and required technique.

The second time Harry felt the saliva drying, Louis had tipped his head back and closed his eyes to relish his overpowering circumstances. In consequence, he wasn’t exactly prepared when Harry skimmed his soaked tongue along the side of Louis’ throbbing cock, warmly striping it from the stem to the rounded top. As the chills trickled down his flexible spine, Louis tipped forward, his chin pointing towards his own Adam’s apple when the two of them gained eye contact.

“Surprise,” Harry crooned in a whisper, grinning mischievously. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck,” Louis moaned breathily, gripping Harry’s roots to carefully guide him back to his groin. His fingers flattened against Harry’s scalp, thumb brushing a curl away from his right eyebrow. “That feels amazing, yeah. Keep doing that, baby.”

Harry’s kittenish behaviour had Louis gasping for air, specifically when he looked him in the eye while adding another long, warm lick along the entire length of Louis’ cock. Meanwhile, Louis’ facial muscles strained in desperation, wrinkles lining over his expressive brows and sweaty forehead. They softened briefly when Harry’s mouth reached the head of his cock and tightened painfully when he daringly circled his glossy lips around it. Even though the head was barely halfway inside, Louis’ back and limbs were already peppered with goosebumps from top to goddamned bottom.

A tickling kiss was planted on the tip before Harry swayed back on his knees, teasingly stroking the kissed spot with his thumb.

“Agh,” Louis groaned bitterly, “That’s not nice. That’s _mean_. That’s—”

His sentence was discontinued when Harry rolled forward on his kneecaps and fully locked up the cockhead, its raphe padding down on his tongue while the cherry coloured rim of his mouth tightly circled around Louis’ unfathomably hardered girth. Another gasp and heavy sigh came from Louis when he skimmed his clammy fingers further back in Harry’s roots, reaching the nape of his neck where he massaged them calmly.

“I didn’t—You know, I actually didn’t think you were gonna—” Harry’s smooth lips slid further down and Louis’ breath audibly hitched, shutting him up briefly. “Okay. No rambling. This is amazing. You’re doing amazing.”

 _No rambling_ , Louis mentally reminded himself while forgetting to breathe. This was the one single instruction Harry had given him, and he refused not to loyally comply.

It was physically draining for him to know that the opportunity of thrusting into Harry’s mouth was entirely accessible, yet non-negotiable nonetheless. This was Harry’s first two-person sexual experience, and Louis was fixed on letting him be in charge. In spite of this, he was boiling with the dominant energy he’d willingly trapped inside. This energy was tempting him even more now that his hands had reached the back of Harry’s head where they were fully capable of frantically shoving him close. Although, both thrusting and shoving was still foreign to Harry’s mouth. In addition, they hadn’t even reached the rim of his virginal throat.

“Good boy,” Louis whispered in an undertone, licking his lips to the sight of Harry sinking down further, currently engulfing one third of the length with Louis’ nerve endings twitching under his warm tongue. “You’re so pretty, baby. So gorgeous ‘round my cock.”

Harry hummed longingly with his mouth jam-packed, lips and tongue trailing backwards to release and gather air. Merely a couple breaths were drawn in before he retraced his mouth down the same line, forcibly shoving Louis’ cock inward with a quicker and much rougher technique compared to the one he’d mastered before. It was halfway inside when a deep, helpless moan dropped from Louis’ widely open mouth.

By no means was it easier for him to feel collected when Harry’s strokes became sloppier and Louis had to tighten his knuckles around his curls simply to take out the pressure _somewhere_. Harry seemed indifferent to the mess he was making when he slobbered with every forced stroke, careless to the risk of hurting himself. The saliva was pushing onto his fingers where they had curled up at his base, occasionally jerking in sync with his bobbing mouth.

So much as the soles of Louis’ feet were sweating to the point where they stayed glued to the wooden flooring. Similarly, Harry’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose were gleaming in white light while beads of perspiration had gathered to glisten in his brows.

When Harry pulled out to regain another portion of oxygen, Louis wiped Harry’s sweaty eyebrows and whispered comforting words about how well he was doing. This, once again, gave Harry the confidence to go rougher, which led him to shove Louis’ cock as far inside as it could reach without entering his throat. He was still looking up, pleading for his boyfriend’s praiseful feedback with watery eyes and a dribbling bottom lip.

A hum vibrated over Louis’ cock when Harry pulled backwards and deliberately sucked over the head, his tongue swirling and pressing around its width. Surprise knocked Louis’ conscience when Harry vigorously pushed himself forward to force the girth down his the narrow opening of his throat. Tears dampened in the corners of his eyes as they crinkled shut. They remained scrunched when he pushed all the way forward and clogged his entire passage, leaving himself short of breath with his nose compressed against Louis’ groin.

Louis’ buried cock shuddered and Harry’s weeping eyes blinked open. The twitchy movement had him flinching backwards, pulling out hastily and tipping down to cough into the bend of his arm. He was red-faced when he returned to suckle on the cockhead, giving it kitten-licks to hear Louis’ whimpers pour from his open mouth. Easing forward was less difficult after the previous incident, and Harry was soon retracing the technique of bobbing his head back and forth while engulfing Louis’ cock halfway down.

“Such a nice boy,” Louis hummed with half-lidded eyes, his thumbs drawing circles into Harry’s warm scalp. “So good to me. Baby, your mouth’s made for my cock.”

Evidently, Harry enjoyed remaining eye contact when Louis spoke to him, even though his eyes were blurry with tears. The persistent angle and pace must’ve been damaging Harry’s neck by then, but not even pain seemed capable of disrupting his relentless strokes. They warmed and soaked Louis’ overpressured length, pleasuring its sensitive areas in an unrelenting process.

The tight pulling in Louis’ lower stomach turned painfully frantic after minutes of relishing Harry’s repetitive head-bobbing motions. This burning yet tickling sensation developed inside of him, heightening for each and every passing second. He had been able to restrain its smouldering impact for a while, but soon enough, Louis was a loose cannon on the verge of being fired.

“Harry,” Louis groaned, yanking his nearly-dry roots to give a sign. “Jesus—Harry, pull away. I’m gonna cum—Gonna cum any second.”

In the midst of gliding down, Harry backtracked slowly, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked Louis’ swollen, almost pulsating erection. The strong friction of Harry’s retracting mouth reinforced the pressure deep within and was followed by rhythmic, nearly convulsive muscular contractions.

Just as Harry’s glossy lips smoothly tumbled from Louis’ fragile cockhead, the shortage of muscles inside Louis’ groin and stomach ultimately quickened. He was on the brink of warning Harry, but zoned out of his conscious mind as the spasm reached his cock. During body- and mind-numbness, he watched himself ejaculate, relieved as ever, squirting stripes of cum over Harry’s clammy forehead and cheeks.

Seconds later, when Louis was entirely conscious, Harry’s tongue collected the residual jizz from Louis’ dripping cock and swallowed it up entirely. He smacked his lips when they were clean, looking up at Louis who was panting heavily to come to terms with the unsatisfying yet thrilling aftermath. The lack of satisfaction came with the thought of their first sexual interaction being over. The thrill however, was utterly overpowering. It meant that Harry had just sucked Louis’ cock, and Louis had never felt more pleased with himself.

While still panting, Louis finally let go of Harry’s roots and crouched down on the floor, reaching for the burgundy towel beside them. With Harry’s chin fitted inside his palm, Louis gently wiped Harry’s face from top to bottom before tossing it aside and cupping Harry’s cheeks with both hands.

“A penny for your thoughts right now,” Louis hummed through a thin-lipped smile, stroking Harry’s glowing cheekbone with a thumb.

Thankfully, Harry’s smile was equally as big yet a couple times shyer. “Was that a good first try?”

“Is that a real question?” asked Louis while arching a brow and admiring Harry as he giggled through his nose. “Were you even here twenty seconds ago? Did you _see_ me? Have you _ever_ seen a bigger mess?”

For Louis, it was refreshing to see Harry blush again. “That’s the—That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever watched. When you, you know, came,” he mumbled, smiling when he noticed the glee on Louis’ face. “Made me very happy, too. ‘Cause I made you cum.”

Their noses brushed together. “You did so fucking well, darling.” Louis pecked Harry’s lips and watched the boy blush further while his shoulders nervously sunk. “Never expected your first blowjob to be my best one.”

“It was?”

“It really was,” Louis confirmed, face scrunched while smiling. “I mean, maybe I’m biased because it’s you, but fuck. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm like this one. Fucking incredible.”

“Wow,” Harry beamed beautifully and Louis gently pinched his cheek. Harry squinted one eye, squirming his head into his shoulder, dimples popping deeply. “I’m really happy.”

“Me too,” Louis grinned, his eyes crinkling. “So happy.”

 

…

 

[By Your Side - The 1975](https://open.spotify.com/track/6VKX7rGnHoHJ4bECP12OOG?si=n9reas4wQVW2PyeoU27HVQ)

Hot, desperate breaths followed them to the stroke of midnight, when Louis was helping Harry strip down to his undies. His limbs were milkily white as they soaked in the spray of the starlight through the wide bedroom window, its sheen glossing the shadowy green-walled bedroom with a dim, misty brume.

The midnight stars were reflected in Harry’s nightly dark eyes when he slumped down in the mattress, his teeth shining equally as bright when Louis peeled down the yellow ankle socks, eventually shielding Harry's chilly feet beneath the end of a furry, lightweight blanket.

Harry’s body laid supine, his index finger twirling coyly around a curl as he watched Louis step out of his clean boxer briefs, slightly clammy from his recent shower. Their comforter had been disheveled into a rumpled mass beside Harry’s feet. It billowed in the shape of a parachute when Louis shook the ends airily and let the cotton softly flatten out over Harry’s legs and stomach.

A shudder touched Louis’ spine, the ceiling-mounted AC having fused a cool airflow with the pseudo-humid temperature in the room. He grasped the end of the comforter to lift the fabric, snugly climbed underneath and sunk down in the warm, detergent-masked sheets.

“We should do yoga tomorrow,” Harry said around a yawn, rolling fittingly close into Louis’ armpit, “I need new face masks, too,” another yawn took over his second, slurry sentence, “have to go shopping.”

Turning his head, Louis squeezed a firm kiss onto Harry’s forehead. “Sure,” he said. The truth was, he would’ve turned down yoga if anyone but Harry had made the suggestion. “Need shampoo, too. Almost used up yours today.”

“Yeah, that has to stop,” Harry muttered, and Louis whined a _why_ into Harry’s equally floral-scented hair. “Because it’s strange to have you smelling like me,” he complained. “You could just leave a bottle in my shower and we’re all good.”

“Fair enough,” Louis hummed, his hands stroking fondly over the rounded part of Harry’s shoulder. Based on peripheral vision, Louis could tell Harry’s eyes were on him, happy and calm. A thought reached him when he turned for eye contact, his nose scrunching as he developed a careful smile. “When are you joining me in the shower, though? We’ve got to save water, haven’t we?”

Harry’s happy eyes bashfully batted their dark eyelashes. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s getting close, though. We’ve um, come quite far today, obviously.”

“ _Quite_?” Louis huffed out a laugh, which Harry joined in on, squirming into Louis’ side to hide his face while laughing warmly into the side of his ribs. “I’ve gone as far as you can go, I’m pretty sure.”

“There’s a lot more to do,” Harry objected quietly, still bubbly as he gradually climbed up to rest upon Louis’ hefty shoulder. “Today was a good way to begin, though.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Louis’ fingers curled gently over the width of Harry’s smooth upper arm just as he nodded, Louis’ warm lips puckering over his plush cheek. “Totally thought we’d fuck in the Jacuzzi.” Harry’s sweet laughter burst like the pop of a balloon, yet softer, fruitier, warm against Louis’ collarbone. “A blowjob’s a better start, though,” he decided. “Now that you’ve seen my cock, we can finally focus on you.”

With timidity, Harry’s nose crumbled as he zigzagged closer to Louis’ side. “Ugh. The spotlight scares me. Being the centre of attention has never been and will never be my thing.”

Dipping his head down, Louis flicked a curl out of Harry’s face, kissing him there. “We can’t possibly be blaming the universe for making you this handsome, though, can we?”

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered at the fair-spoken comment. “Yeah, let’s not blame the universe. We wouldn’t be together if it wasn’t for it.”

Louis sagged further into the mattress, kissing Harry’s temple. “For the record,” he began. “I won’t be putting any spotlights on you. No pressure. Ever.” Another firm kiss was printed beside Harry’s brow. “Always want you to be entirely comfortable. All right?”

The fuzzy, curly ends of Harry’s hair tickled in Louis’ armpit when he lolled his neck to the side, his arm leisurely stretching over Louis’ abdomen, scratching smoothly from defined abs to his upper belly.

“How’s work?” murmured Louis through barely open lips, brushing against Harry’s hairline. “All pictures ready for Monday?” The nineteen-year-old hummed pleasantly against him. “Happy with ‘em?”

“More or less.”

In an idle manner, Louis walked his fingers up the sternum in Harry’s torso. “You’ve got to stop with this rivalry approach,” he whispered, inspecting the evolution of Harry’s addled, narrowing eyes. “The only reason you’re doubting your pictures right now is because of Zayn. He isn’t competition, though. The bloke thinks you’re incredible, and there’s no hostility.”

Harry’s mouth brushed off of Louis’ pec when he angled his face upward. “How—How did you—You _know_ him?”

As his fingers stilled, flattening over Harry’s hairless chest, Louis grimaced. “We met at the beach. It’s all a big coincidence. Apparently, he’s the boy Liam’s been seeing for a little while.” His nose wrinkled at the phrasing because _been seeing_ sounded more than what it was. “They’ve met twice.”

It was taking Harry longer than normal to process his words. “Oh,” he said, seconds into their outdrawn silence. “I had no idea he was um, attracted to guys.”

“That would be an understatement,” Louis huffed, tightening his arched arm around Harry’s slender shoulders.

Harry’s gaze oscillated between Louis’ mouth and eyes. “What do you mean?” A crease of concern fixed between his lowered brows. “Did Zayn come on to you?”

“ _No_ , Angry Kitten,” Louis answered through a cocky smile, Harry’s eyebrows flattening, lashes fluttering shyly. “Not everyone finds my muscles as _enthralling_ as you do.”

With blushing cheeks, Harry shook his head gingerly. “That’s a lie. My judgements on your good looks aren’t subjective. It’s common sense. You’re gorgeous. You just _are_.”

Peculiar stillness sunk between them, Louis’ arrogant grin falling down, lips passively forming a narrow opening in minor awe. He blinked, attentively observing the much fainter starlight cascading over Harry’s delicate porcelain skin. This ravishingly photographic sheen tinted the usually verdantly green eyes into a shade closer to turquoise. If Louis hadn’t known better, he could’ve assumed Harry’s irises had been concocted with the colour of his own.

“Well.” Louis’ voice gently yanked them out of their tender quietude, his fingers playfully pinching the bridge of Harry’s nose. “No need to be a jellybean. Liam’s got him wrapped ‘round his pinkie, it seems.” Harry was listening attentively, presumably expecting a longer answer. “It’s true. They slept together an hour into their first meeting.”

Harry was frowning again. Not in a concerning way, though. It was more of an offended, or half-angry approach.

“Of course they did,” he muttered.

“Hey,” Louis cooed, cupping Harry’s stiffened jaw, hoping to see it loosening. “Relax, Einie. What’s got you so worked up about your colleague? He’s got nothing on you.  _They’ve_ got nothing on _us_. I’m not even convinced they’re gonna last that long.”

Harry watched him through his lashes, appearing fetchingly naïve. “You will automatically compare Liam’s partner to your own. He’s your best friend. It’s subconscious.”

“Fine, Big Brains, but so what?” Louis’ hold on Harry’s tight jaw skidded up his velvety cheek. “Anyone who gets compared to you ends up losing anyway. There’s _nothing_ to worry about.” Finally, Louis thought he could feel Harry softening. His eyes were still bordering on turquoise, sparkles appearing more defined while radiating bliss. “By the way, Zayn’s practically bordering on Skater Boy. Don’t you think?”

To Louis’ delight, a throaty laugh rustled from Harry’s body. “Maybe. So, he’s not your type?”

“No,” Louis said. “Even if he was, you wouldn’t have to worry. It’s not like I’m with you merely because you’re my _type_.” His lips puckered softly on Harry’s eyebrow, entirely static until Harry would turn to meet his reassuring eye. “There are loads and loads of other factors involved, remember?”

“Yeah. A pick & mix.”

Smiling softly, Louis thumbed Harry’s newborn dimple. “Exactly.” They both smiled, Harry tucking his limbs closer onto Louis’, head snug in between his collarbone and curved neck. “So cuddly today,” Louis smiled through a croon, which had Harry giggling beautifully in return.

As the quietness stretched around them, all they could hear was the faint humming of the AC and their own smooth breathing in the midnight air. Louis remained supine, enjoying the contrast between the trapped warmth under the comforter, and the coolness of Harry’s feet brushing along his own. While Louis’ belly bloated and dropped between breaths, Harry’s fingernails gently scratched over his heated abdomen.

“By the way,” whispered Louis as a previous thought reoccurred, “my best friend is you.” He pressed a kiss onto Harry’s cheek. “I thought we’d established that already.”

Harry smiled faintly. “True. We have.”

Louis’ eyelids wavered drowsily. “Gosh. I don’t think I’ve felt this relaxed in a long time. This tummy-scratch is putting me out.”

“Maybe you’re a frog.”

“A frog now?”

“If a frog’s lying on its back and you begin to rub its belly, it’ll get tiredly hypnotised.”

“All right, Einstein.” A happy breath pushed through Louis’ nose, his head gently dropping to rest on top of Harry’s, face swimming in curls. “That’s it then. You’ve hypnotised me.”

 

…

 

The following morning, Louis stepped out in solely flip-flops and joggers to hurry down to the garbage chute with the chock-full rubbish bag from Harry’s kitchen.

Just as he bumped his hip into the door to slam it shut, Sukiko Sugimoto, Harry’s next-door neighbour, caught sight of him while turning the key in her door.

From previous experience, Louis expected a side-eye or judgemental once-over. Although, this time, the woman frowned shortly before giving in a smile, which Louis returned with uncertainty.

“I see you two’ve worked it out now?” she said, eyes slightly narrowed.

Louis’ lips pursed faintly. “ _It_?”

While slipping the keys into her purse and shouldering the straps, Sukiko nonchalantly rolled her eyes and crossed her slender arms over her bosom.

“For how long will you continue playing the oblivious-card?”

“I…” Louis’ voice halted, eyebrows tightening in a befuddled frown. Simply attempting to connect the dots wasn’t even necessary. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that what you told Harry?”

With a half-open mouth, Louis remained frowning, head subtly tilted. “Uh, I—I still don’t know what you’re saying…”

The woman’s four-inch heels tapped sharply over the timeworn concrete as she eased towards the stairway, gathering her hair over one shoulder. She blinked a couple times, reaching for the handrail.

“I shouldn’t get myself involved, and I’ve got to head to work. Congrats on…” At a loss for words, Sukiko simply glared at Louis’ bare, toned torso, whirling her hand in the air.

“Oh. It’s not—It’s not like that. We haven’t um, slept together—Why am I saying this? Anyway, we’re dating. Boyfriends.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, said “Good for you” and ambled noisily down the stairs.

Even when the clacking high heels were one or two floors down, Louis remained spaced out of his mind, fingers confusedly clenching around the plastic handle of the rubbish bag. Eventually, he scratched his belly and neared the stairs, the flip-flops patting over the hard flooring.

 

…

 

“So, this is a D chord. I’m pretty sure you can clock _In The Jungle,_ if you like. All right? The Lion King, you know?”

Harry’s thumb, index- and middle finger mimicked Louis’ as they weighed down three keys a couple steps to Louis’ right. While Harry began humming the melody, he experimentally tapped his spare hand over the remaining keys to his right and attempted to mirror the chimes in his head. After succeeding to get halfway through, Harry’s index finger found the wrong key. He started over, got it wrong again, and repeated the same circle four or five times.

“It’s a black key,” Louis advised him. “The note you keep getting wrong.”

“Oh,” Harry followed, tapped the keys in order, pressed the middle black one, realising it was the wrong one again. Louis casually reached over and gently maneuvered Harry’s fingers to the key on its right. “Thanks. That makes sense.”

“Think you can do the whole thing now.”

Harry breathed in and moved his hand back in position, finding the right keys. He was humming again, nailing each and every note as they silently buzzed from his closed lips.

“Wow,” Louis drawled through enthusiasm, losing the keyboard to settle a hand over the small of Harry’s back. “That’s impressive.” He eased close, kissing his cheek. “You’re unfathomably good for someone who”—he clearing his throat jokingly—“doesn’t like music.” His brows wrinkled in displeasure. “Still feels wrong to say.”

“I like music. I like the—What’s it called? The um, _Good Time_? The one with all the drums.”

Louis chuckled briefly. “ _Good Life_ , you mean. Wait. Seriously? I’ve been playing you the same twenty-one songs for weeks and that’s the only one you like?”

“No. I like the slow ones, too.”

“ _Ungodly Hour_? _Lullaby_? _Happiness_?”

“I have no clue, babe. Probably, yeah. I like most of the songs by now. You’ve imprinted them onto my brain, so it’s kind of impossible not to. Somehow.”

Louis moved their thighs together, clutching Harry’s hand softly with his own as soon as it slipped down onto his kneecaps. Their shoulders bumped together and Louis aligned his forehead with Harry’s, their noses touching side-to-side. Everything was happening in a lumbering pace; the touches, the breaths, the cautious smiles, Harry’s occasional giggles. Louis felt like re-experiencing his first kiss when he leaned in, slow and careful as he skimmed their lips together, kissing Harry’s daintily.

“Hey, um…” Louis watched their hands, stroking his thumb along the length of Harry’s. He looked up again, appearing sincere in front of Harry’s doting eyes. “There isn’t um, something you haven’t told me, is there? Something I should know?”

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered shyly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. “Why, um—Why would you ask that?”

Louis’ big toe gently bumped into Harry’s heel under the piano stool before finding its top side of his foot, stroking it finely. His gaze kept seesawing from place to place before finally stalling on Harry’s anxious face.

“Because I ran into Mrs. Sugimoto while throwing out the rubbish.” Louis’ heart took a leap when he saw Harry’s eyes widening in the slightest. “She was weirdly surprised when she saw me coming out of your door. According to her, I’m playing an oblivious-card. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not _playing_.” He shrugged both shoulders. “I didn’t understand what she was talking about.”

“Well.” Harry gulped a second time. “What did she say then?”

“Not much, but enough to confuse me. So yeah, I was wondering what you’ve told her about us.” Louis squeezed Harry’s hand gently. “The woman hates me, basically.”

“I—I dunno,” Harry murmured shakily, blinking several times before letting them regain eye contact. “I haven’t spoken to her in a long time. She um, knows you and I didn’t get along before. In particular, she knows you were rude to me. That’s probably why um, she was saying those things.”

With a gradually fading frown, Louis exhaled a light sigh. “Yeah, maybe. But um, what about the oblivious thing?”

Harry hesitated before shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Louis’ spare hand reared to fondle in the nape of Harry’s curly-haired neck. He pulled lightly at his roots before letting his fingers softly curl around the width of his neck. “Thanks for telling me, anyway.”

Harry nodded faintly and Louis pulled him close, his bottom lip meeting the cleft between Harry’s pair. They kissed smoothly, Harry appearing more passive. Louis edged away, calmly playing with Harry’s recently shampooed curls.

“There will be a full moon tonight,” Harry told him, voice thick and brittle. Louis’ fingers dropped to Harry’s thigh as he examined the unexpected despair in Harry’s facial features. “I was wondering if you um, would like to watch it with me?”

A smile was on Louis’ lips when he kissed Harry’s cheek firmly. “Sounds romantic. Of course I will,” he crooned gently. “How’d you know, though? You keep track of when it’s a full one?”

”Yeah, um—Let’s have dinner,” Harry decided suddenly, looking distracted. “How about sushi? You liked that place we ordered from last time, didn’t you?”

A subtle frown hardened Louis’ face. “That’d be nice, yeah.” Thenceforth, the creases in his eyebrows slowly faded and he gently kissed the tip of Harry’s nose. “I will try not to drop avocado on you this time. If I do, though, I promise to eat the piece directly from your thigh. Empty-handed, baby.”

At last, Harry finally gave away a smile.

 

…

 

“I assume you have a million shots of this exact view, but from your own balcony.”

While hugging him from behind, Louis craned his neck over Harry’s hoodie-clad shoulder, warmly kissing his rosy cheek. Though, the lack of response had him sinking back down, resting his chin right beside Harry’s neck.

His reply was delayed, but eventually it came.

“It’s nearly midnight. The shots would be all pixelated due to the lack of lighting.”

Louis observed Harry’s side-profile, his arms tightening around his waist. “Should’ve seen that one coming.”

A whole day had passed, and Louis could barely remember Harry smiling more than twice. Normally, he would laugh at everything Louis said, even if it wasn’t funny.

They watched the moon. It was held captive inside a nest of diffused clouds, shining through their fog in a white light that delicately showered over Harry and Louis’ faces. The sound of calm traffic dispersed from five floors down, engines humming sturdily and tires squealing as they halted over the darkly lustrous, two-laned road. Over Harry’s shoulder, Louis breathed in the mixture of strong peppermint, soapy jasmine flower and slick exhaust fumes. He prodded his nose into the side of Harry’s neck, excluding the foul-smelling smoke to drown in Harry’s stale cologne. A couple kisses were added onto the warm skin.

“Harry.”

“Mm?”

Louis kissed the same spot twice. “What’s up with you today? Are you okay? I’ve been sensing bad vibes for hours.”

Time stilled, the traffic still noisily moving, sparse clouds still shifting over the barely starlit sky and strangers still moving in lit-up, rectangular windows. But Harry was slack under Louis’ arms, barely breathing as it seemed.

“I—I um, don’t really know. It’s nothing.”

“Obviously it’s _something_.”

Harry’s sable lashes quivered mildly, his fingers fastening around the top barrier of the fence to the balcony. “Bad day.”

“Really?” Louis hummed, pursing his lips with gloom. “Mine’s really good,” he continued in a slow pace. “I’ve been with this cute boy all day. We um, had a cuddle on the couch for a couple hours. I liked cooking lunch together. The pasta was good. Also found out he’s a natural at playing the piano, much to my liking.” His nose nuzzled fondly into Harry’s neck. “We ate sushi, and now, we’re watching the full moon together.”

A rich luster glowed on Harry’s moonlit features when he turned over his shoulder, his cheek gently tapping onto the tip of Louis’ nose. Light touches guided Harry’s lips closer to Louis’, brushing along them, side-to-side. Although those subtle strokes were given with relish, Harry’s deery eyes didn’t exactly radiate the same energy.

“Hey,” Louis whispered in the lightest tone, his breath skimming hotly over Harry’s closed mouth. “Will you tell me now?”

In the deflated glow from the nightlight to Louis’ apartment, Harry swivelled, snug and relaxed under Louis’ firmly protective arms. He dipped close, placing a steady, perennial peck directly on Louis’ mouth until he responded by gracefully kissing him back, cradling a hand under Harry’s jaw.

And when Harry pulled away, his head toppled onto Louis’ chest. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a great day, too. It’s not what I meant to say.”

With a tighter hold, Louis left several kisses in Harry’s curly fringe.

“It’s all right. We don’t have to talk today. Stargazing is meant to be done in silence after all, isn’t it?” He kissed Harry’s temple. “Is that you want? Simply gazing? Hm?” The sheen from the nightlight crept up on Harry’s cheeks when he tilted his head, watching Louis as he hummed, “Just me, you and the moon?”

“I’m actually,” Harry paused, lashes wafting softly as he sniffled, “quite bored of it. Think I’d prefer watching a movie, or a TV show. Maybe _Atypical,_ as usual.”

Louis’ brief smile touched over Harry’s in a hasty, close-mouthed kiss. “Then it’s me, you and the telly.”

 


	9. carved in stone

 

**July, 2019**

 

Fatigued and lethargic after a grueling workout at the gym, Louis dawdled up over the cement stairsteps in the apartment building. He was typing one-handedly to send off a third text message after the two unanswered ones in the past half-hour.

“ _Babyyyy Harryyyy answer me._ ”

Wafting his sweaty tank, Louis slipped his iPhone into the outer pocket to his barrel bag. He was panting when he reached the third floor, wiping his forehead and silently waiting for the phone to vibrate at a reply. Though, even when he reached the fifth, there hadn’t been a single buzz to be heard. Therefore, he wandered up to 5B:s door and knocked thrice.

Six knocks later, Louis picked up the spare key from under the woven doormat.

The ill-lighted hallway, kitchen and common room had no trace of Harry when Louis stepped inside after removing his trainers.

“Harry?”

Rounding the dining table, he spotted Harry’s iPhone on the taupe countertop. He skipped past it and strode towards the closed bedroom.

The air was nearly icy from the AC, room pitch-black and quiescent. Louis rotated the circular switch for dimmed lights, finding the comforter in an oval pile, draping what seemed to be Harry underneath. He ambled forth, gently plunging down next to his boyfriend in the white linens. The edge of the comforter was peeled down to reveal Harry’s face, the blood-red cheeks coated in both dry and wet teardrops.

“No, baby, no,” Louis murmured, face crumbling at the scene.

The teenage boy was as much as a wilted flower, tucked under the bedspread, having gone long without the sight of luster and heartening sunshine. Louis’ beloved wildflower had eyelids that stayed shut and heavy, beads of watery sorrow clinging to the ends of their golden eyelashes.

He was yet to decipher whether Harry was conscious or not when he climbed close, body enclosed by the temperate shield of the comforter. Though, it became clear amidst the light caresses over his warmly wetted cheekbone, when Harry gingerly flinched back and blinked away the tears that had lingered close to his eye.

The boy covered his eyesight with his forearm, mumbling thickly, “Look away. I look like—Ugh,” he sniffled wetly. “Hideous.”

“No. Don’t say that. I wasn’t thinking that. I wouldn’t ever think that of you.”

The boy simply sobbed into his guarding forearm.

“What’s the matter?” Louis wondered, his hand having toppled down to Harry’s clothed upper body, fondly palming his side. “How long have you been laying like this?”

“Maybe … two hours.”

“And why?”

As Harry’s forearm dropped into the sheets, Louis eased closer to fit both arms underneath Harry’s, caringly encircling his middle.

“‘Cause I feel bad.”

Since Harry was finally on the verge to confessing, Louis raised his brows. “Guilty conscience, or physically bad?”

“Mentally,” Harry nearly whimpered, reaching out for Louis’ perspiry, slightly darker collar with a quivering bottom lip. “‘Cause um, of a thing.”

“A thing?”

“I…” Harry halted in speech, wiping his irritated eye with his sweater-paw in a callow demeanour. “Can I take a shower? Before we talk?”

Even though a whole bundle of days had passed during which Harry seemed to have been engulfed by the sadness that had occurred to him the day of their brief moment of moongazing, Louis had never lost his patience.

He was hoping for Harry’s cloud to have a silver lining, obviously, and postponing the reveal for another half-hour didn’t exactly cause them any particular damage. Because Harry’s shadowy cloud was discharging dreary, pelting rainfall, and Louis was soaked underneath, waiting in heavy dew for the storm to subside.

The hairdryer was whirring loudly from Harry’s steaming, wide-open bathroom when Louis returned from his own shower. He had changed into clean leisurewear—a black, sleeveless top and grey sweatpants—while Harry wore a red t-shirt and black Adidas joggers.

As Louis stepped over the threshold, Harry unplugged the hairdryer, ruffled his fringe before neatly patting it aside and sniffled while turning to meet Louis’ eye.

Long kisses were exchanged under the yellowish bathroom light. This continued when their limbs were tangled together on Harry’s smoke-grey padded couch, both easeful and hungry for each other’s company. Harry’s minty taste was sucked in Louis’ mouth, his fresh body scent engulfed by Louis’ nostrils. He hummed, eternally satisfied, kissing firmly and pulling at the nape of Harry’s neck.

They split when Harry grunted dismally into Louis’ warm, sensual mouth.

“We have to talk.”

Having fallen out of breath, Louis lounged his head against the cushioned armrest, thumbing down Harry’s hip bones while his fingers reached for the lower back. There was a mild glow from Harry’s flatscreen, chatoyant as it diverged from frame to frame. It spewed over them both, blue-violet when Harry laid down, his upper body flat along the length of Louis’ torso.

“I lied to you.”

As a matter of principle, Louis wouldn’t normally accept a lie. Although, under these circumstances—where Louis was ahead of time, already aware of Harry having a secret—he found it inevitable to sympathise. According to him, it wouldn’t have been fair to rush to judgement without delay.

“About what?”

“About us being open with each other.”

Drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth, Louis slipped a hand under the hem of Harry’s crimson top. “I figured.”

“I feel so terrible,” Harry’s voice shuddered like a trembling leaf, battling with the breeze, on the brink of falling. Louis’ hand caressed the heated curve of Harry’s spine. “‘Cause I never wanted to do you wrong. At any given time. That’s why I should’ve told you in the beginning—“

“In the _beginning_?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry sighed into the centre of Louis’ chest. “Look, I’m sorry. Before then, I thought you _knew_. That’s why Sukiko said you were playing oblivious. As time went on, though, I realised that wasn’t possible.”

“Oblivious about _what_? You thought I knew _what_?”

He inhaled deeply. “After mine and Jayce’s date, you know, when I came to yours, and you were being passive-aggressive?”

“Yeah, Harry, I couldn’t possibly forget about the night we first kissed.”

Little by little, Harry’s teardrops wetted Louis’ sleeveless tank. “But you _did_.”

With a shaky bottom lip, he gazed up at Louis, tearful and apprehensive.

“That wasn’t our first kiss.”

 

 

**April, 2018**

 

Apartment 5B was originally coloured in pigeon-grey before Harry Styles decided to repaint the walls in mint-green.

Living at home with his father was no longer sufficient, especially now that the man had quit his job to establish a work-from-home career as an alcoholic. There was always space for Harry in the house, but his father was such a burden that he needed his widowed sister as a personal babysitter. She, along with Harry’s grandmother, was financially responsible for two thirds of the rent to Harry’s flat while Harry paid the rest with his salary from the photography job.

It just so happened that one week after moving in, a man in his mid-thirties decided to host a get-together on floor three. Harry was delighted to find this out through Sukiko Sugimoto, the Japanese woman who lived next door. Living without a family member would at least be less lonesome if he were to befriend a couple of neighbours, Harry thought.

Above all else, he was hoping to befriend the dreamboat in apartment 5C. They were yet to gain eye contact. All Harry had seen was an attractive back, a load of muscles, and a kind side-profile with chiseled bone structure.

Douglas was the name of the host of the get-together. Apparently, he had written two graphic novels in the past year without getting either of them published. When Harry entered, the man offered him alcoholic drinks that he politely turned down.

Since Harry had been the first resident to arrive, he slouched down on a black-draped leather couch with a cantaloupe slice in one hand, and a harmless glass of water in the other.

Sukiko and her husband were the fourth and fifth guests to arrive. Harry bounced up to embrace her as soon as she neared the seating area with a glass of champagne balanced between her thumb and index finger.

“You look lovely tonight,” Harry told her as she upheaved the billowy skirt to her dress before sitting down beside him. “Are the kids sleeping?”

“They’re at my mum’s house,” Mrs. Sugimoto filled him in before taking a swig from her glass and tossing her silky, obsidian-black hair over her strapless shoulder. “I didn’t want the noise to keep them up at night, so I figured it’d be best to send them off.”

Their conversation remained the same (calm yet bubbly) for another twenty minutes, until Harry spotted an anticipated guest from afar.

The owner of apartment 5C was dressed in a white button-up that framed the shape of his biceps in an immaculate manner. Harry couldn’t help but notice the glazed eyes and the erratic body language as his next-door neighbour strolled inside, slightly wobbly on the legs. Moreover, his hair was disordered compared to the last time Harry had seen it. It must’ve previously been styled into a quiff, hours earlier, but gotten ruffled since.

Before Harry knew it, the gorgeous figure was only metres away, absentmindedly pouring himself a glass while Harry tried to gain the courage to step forward.

“You’re in 5C, right?” Harry said, his heart sprinting away as if it was rushing to get out of the situation. But Harry stayed. In fact, he stepped closer, and the man angled his shoulder to face the figure of the unfamiliar voice.

“Oh.” He blinked, a motion which formed a firm line between his brows. It seemed that he was examining Harry’s appearance, the gesture appearing drawn-out due to the intoxication. “Yes. Yes, I am in 5C. I’ve never—” He blinked again, his delicate eyelashes drifting calmly in front of the cerulean eyes. “I’ve never seen you before.” There, his lips began to form a slow, growing smile. “I’m Louis,” he introduced himself and offered a handshake, which Harry accepted. “Tomlinson.”

“Harry,” he replied, and “Styles,” was added through darned cold sweat. “I just moved in next to you, in 5B.”

“That’s good news,” Louis chorused before his lips were covered by the brim to his champagne glass. As he drew a sip, he watched Harry through his stunning lashes. “So, Harry Styles. Are you new in Cornwall? Your accent sounds closer to mine than to Douglas’. He’s from here, that geezer. Is his name Douglas or Dennis? I always forget.”

“It’s Douglas,” Harry clarified, chuckling breathily, “and no. You’re right, I’m not from here. I’ve lived in Cornwall for three years, but I’m originally from Holmes Chapel, in Cheshire.”

Louis made a happy noise. “Gotta love ‘em Northerners.” His shoulder playfully bumped into Harry’s. “I’m a Yorkshire-man, myself.” Harry figured that this accent was exceptionally apparent when he was drunk, because right there, it had been so thick, he could barely make out the words. “We’re pretty, too, us Northerners. Aren’t we?”

[Never Not - Lauv](https://open.spotify.com/track/4fFfyouye6vrX9o9z4PVMu?si=vjw7vU75RZ6T7lqaBsKjXA)

Harry only had to spend a single hour with Louis Tomlinson before he could designate him as the most charming man he had ever come across.

Towards the end of this enchanted hour, when time had passed the stroke of midnight, Louis and Harry made it out through Douglas’ front door. By some means, it was almost as if Louis’ drunken condition was rubbing off on Harry, because despite of him sticking to the same glass of water throughout this past hour, the teenage boy felt more inebriated than ever.

“There’s supposed to be a full moon tonight,” Harry informed Louis as they skipped up the fourth stairway on their way to Louis’ place. “If you would like, we could—we could go outside instead, and watch it together.”

Louis’ hand locked with Harry’s. “That’s so lovely. But there’s a rooftop patio, where we could go. Did you know?”

Harry’s eyes lit up like stars. “There _is_?”

“Yes,” Louis beamed, dropping down one step to reach Harry’s level and settle his spare hand on his waist. “Let’s see if it’s unoccupied. Yeah?”

The so-called patio wasn’t much more than a rooftop of cement flooring with metallic barricades framing its edges. It was a deserted surface, to their advantage, and the resplendent globe in the upper atmosphere had indeed come to its full circle. Louis, in his drunken state, was so thrilled over the sight that he squeezed Harry’s hand and skipped up along the side to hug his spare fingers around the top bar of the fence.

“Woah,” Louis said before exhaling the air he’d sucked in while rushing up the last set of stairs. They had sprinted three floors up, and evidently, Harry’s body was less capable of letting the oxygen shuttle to his working muscles. “You’re worn out after that,” Louis commented, his thumb stroking over Harry’s hand as a sign of comfort. “Sorry for rushing. It’s the adrenaline.”

“It’s fine,” Harry panted in sync with his rising and sinking chest to regain his regular heart rate—until he realised he was around an attractive boy, and his heart was likely to keep throbbing for as long as he stayed.

They let go of each other’s hands and Harry leaned his torso against the barricade, a fine-spun redolence of cigarette smoke and urban exhaust fumes circling into his flared nostrils. Tipping overtop, he viewed over the neighbouring buildings, his eyes attempting to accustom with the dispersive nightlights. Each and every time he would blink or let his gaze soar, blotches in the same complexion as the motionless stars overhead would follow his route of vision.

“How’d you know there was a full moon?” asked Louis, who had joined Harry with his ribs weighing down over the top railing.

“Because,” Harry’s eyes soared to the mentioned satellite, specks of light following and joining the stars at its side, “I love space, and I keep track of when the time comes so that I remember to watch it every time. Last month, there was a Supermoon, which sounds foolish, but it's magnificent. That’s when the full moon appears fourteen percent bigger than its standard size,” he paused there to mentally reach for the second statistic, “and thirty percent brighter."

“Oh,” Louis exhaled the expression, and since he was looking right at Harry, a whiff of alcohol winded the boy’s side-profile, which he didn’t mind. “That’s really cool.”

It seemed that Louis enjoyed watching Harry from that angle, so Harry strained his facial muscles to attempt defining the contour of his jaw and moonlit cheekbones. Just as he felt Louis’ fixed stare pass for the moon, a twitch in his muscles nudged the corner of his mouth upward into a smile.

“It’s fuckin’ surreal,” Louis sighed, fingers slow as they drummed on top of the metallic barricade. “Like, there’s a round ball in the sky, so bloody far away, thousands and thousands of miles. But we can still see it.”

“Round ball?” Harry repeated, his curled lips twisting further up.

Louis looked at him, his smile present and glassy eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean.” He ran his tongue over his top lip. “Spherical satellite. Happy with that?”

It was in moments like these that Harry would struggle to control his way of speaking. Everything inside of him urged to correct Louis’ statement. However, Harry knew from experience that nobody likes a know-it-all. But sometimes, he couldn’t help but slip.

“The moon isn’t spherical.”

Louis’ fingers stopped tapping. “It’s not?”

“It’s more of an egg-shape,” Harry explained, his hands anxiously rubbing together as they clasped around the barricade. Louis’ lips formed a circle, and Harry couldn’t help but let a giggle pass through his nose. “The reason we don’t realise this is because the pointy end is angled right towards Earth.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No,” Harry laughed, his ribs reaching further over the fence, another miasma of petrol fumes tracing him. “It’s true. Google it.”

Louis’ lips formed a firm smile. “You know what? I absolutely hate that fact. That has ruined me.”

Harry laughed a second time, his shoulder gently bumping into Louis’. As a reaction, Louis used his tricep to bump back into Harry in the most playful manner, his smiling lip trapped under his glowing teeth. This made Harry blush, and Louis placed a hand on Harry’s back to stroke along his curved spine. After having done this, he was smooth enough to let his hand crawl up around Harry’s shoulder.

“I like that you’re smart and educated,” Louis started, his fingers having found a new spot to tap over: Harry’s collarbone. “It _does_ make me feel stupid, but I’m also drunk, so we would probably have an even better connection if I were sober.”

“You don’t seem stupid to me.”

Harry could feel Louis’ eyes on him, tracing over his features, the act appearing a lot less intrusive or intimidating than Harry would’ve expected. Even though it was a thorough examination, the aura of his presence was kind and innocuous. If Harry had been alone with any other stranger during a nocturnal hang-out on a rooftop, he probably would’ve been shaking with fear. Though, Louis was composed and harmonious, and Harry felt safe, even tucked under this stranger’s muscular arm.

“You’re covered in moonlight,” Louis stated in a soft hum, the no longer finger-drumming hand forming a gentle cup around his shoulder. Harry’s ice-touched, emerald eyes danced up to Louis’, which radiated an even softer gaze compared to the previous one.

Louis’ spare hand caught Harry’s chin along his index finger, thumb resting over its centre. It was such a soft and nimble gesture that Harry’s heart had no time to react.

“It reflects on here,” Louis whispered, his gentle thumb moving up to trace over Harry’s illuminated cheekbone. “I wish you could see yourself.” There, his knuckles stoked over the baby soft cheek. The ease of his actions had Harry’s lightened eyelashes wafting unhurriedly, as if he was prepared to stay there forever. “I think I’ve been moonstruck,” Louis added, a humorous curl tempting the side of his mouth, “‘cause of how beautiful you are.”

Harry’s eyes were watering and Louis noticed, which made his lips purse, as if he was pained by the sight.

“Is that true?” Harry asked, because no one had ever given him such a compliment, and Louis was probably experienced, which meant he could’ve said those lines to anyone, just to be charming.

Louis’ pinkie and ring finger were lined up under Harry’s jaw while the remaining three rested along the bottom of his cheek. The thumb, in particular, kept stroking over the skin as if he couldn’t get enough of its immaculate smoothness and glow.

“Of course it’s true,” Louis said, and Harry felt the sincerity beam as if it was as visible as the faint smile on his lips. “I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “I’ve noticed.”

A soft snicker seeped through Louis’ nose, his delicate eyelashes fluttering as he ran his tongue over his lips. It was so tranquil, how his narrow, dark-blue eyes gazed into Harry’s and slowly altered their aim to his fleshy, deeply coloured lips.

And even though this made Harry’s heart thud harder, he wasn’t frightened of what was coming next. So when Louis’ face was gradually easing closer, Harry let his eyelids peacefully fall shut, awaiting Louis’ touch until it smooched over his mellow lips.

It lasted for five seconds. And when Louis’ lips puckered to let go, Harry’s eyes opened in slits to observe the man in front of him, half-smirk present before Harry boldly decided to lean in a second time, returning to kiss Louis back while the man’s thumb drew circles over his cheek. Their tongues slipped together, and Harry learnt that Louis currently tasted of alcohol, a flavour that certainly wasn’t as bad as he could’ve expected.

Louis’ smile was sensible even then, which made Harry smile, too. It was difficult to kiss while your lips were curving, Harry noticed, but the longer the kiss continued, the more natural it grew.

Harry loved the sounds. He was eighteen and he’d shared pecks with people before, at a younger age, but Louis was the first to graze his tongue against Harry’s. So Harry decided to consider this his very first kiss, and those soft, smooching sounds made him feel mature.

“I wanna put you in my pocket,” Louis muttered, letting their clammy lips separate. Harry was too caught up in the excitement that he almost couldn’t pay attention to what Louis was saying. It was a strange saying, though, he realised, which was why he giggled. “You’re so cute, that’s why. If I could fit you in there, I would ask you to be there. So I could carry you around with me.”

“That’s a strange thing to say.”

“No,” Louis said, his eyes were even more lidded than before. “That’s what you do, when you find something new that you want to keep, right? You put it in your pocket.” Louis’ nose brushed against Harry’s. “So you don’t disappear on me.”

“I’m your neighbour.”

“Oh. Right.”

Harry laughed in a melodious tone before Louis leaned close to brush their lips together from side to side.

“Tomorrow, I’ll invite you over. For coffee. So you can tell me more about space. Or whatever else.”

Harry’s eyes had sparks of light in them, and they flickered after Louis’ phrase. “Promise?”

Louis avoided answering. Not because he was uncertain, but because he had another plan, twirling around somewhere in his drunken conscience. This lead him to crouch down on the ground where he found a rock-hard shard of cement, caught it between his fingers and began carving lines into the floor. Harry assumed this was some drunk procedure, where he would do those things he normally wouldn’t if he were sober. Though, it wasn’t just lines that he carved. They were letters.

Harry crouched down next to him, and when Louis had finished spelling, he blew sharply against the surface to waft away the dust and crumbs covering its engraved lines.

It spelled out _promise_. They were capital letters but they were crooked, lines angular where they were meant to be rounded.

“There. It’s carved in stone, so I can’t break it.”

It was strange, how Harry nearly felt like he had already fallen head over heels for this charming man, like he didn’t need any further information, nor get to know his sober side. It seemed enough to be enlightened by this sentimental fraction, the humorous one, and the one that showed interest in Harry’s personal life.

Needless to say, he was truly looking forward to that coffee-date, even if caffeine was a far cry from his favourite flavour.

 

 

**July, 2019**

 

The penny had dropped.

Their limbs were no longer entangled when Harry finished telling the story. Harry’s head wasn’t resting on Louis’ chest as he was now settled cross-legged on the couch, fiddling nervously with his fingers. Louis, on the other hand, had his face buried into his palms and feet stuck to the carpet.

He was done looking at Harry. It had been enough seeing him dissolve in tears while narrating the ending fragment about Louis drunkenly promising to invite him over the upcoming day.

If he hadn’t ever known—If Harry hadn’t ever told him, Louis probably would’ve been alright. But Harry ... The poor boy had gone through _months_ knowing he was the only one out of the two to remember their first interaction. Their first kiss. Their first promise.

In the grand scheme of things, everything was adding up. The unsolvable glances, the passive aggressiveness, not to mention the first and second coffee-date when Harry had practically invited himself in, assuming Louis would trace it back to _that_ night during which Louis had promised to take him in for coffee.

And as much as all of this made sense, Louis found that it also made sense that Harry would keep it a secret. It didn’t aggravate him, because by telling this story, Harry was making _Louis_ feel guilty. Therefore, Harry had only been protecting Louis from his own remorse, while letting _himself_ feel forgotten in the process.

This wasn’t Harry’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But Louis felt terrible.

“Please say something,” Harry whimpered feebly, sniffling and fiddling.

Retracing his upper body back towards the backrest, Louis dabbed a teardrop under his eye, moving his clammy palms to flatten them over his thighs. Becoming wall-eyed, he shook his head, staring vacantly. He wasn’t sure whether there were words expressive enough to sum up whatever emotion had been developing inside of him for the past ten minutes. There probably wasn’t.

“First of all,” he hummed shakily, voice straining so that he had to clear his throat, “I want you to know”—he looked down at his hands—“that I’m not mad at you.”

Harry kept still, waiting patiently for anything to happen. Another word, a simple touch, a reassuring glance of the eye. Anything. Time was passing, and time was had never been heavier, almost like it was pushing against him, pressuring.

“I agree that you should’ve told me earlier, but I also understand why you didn’t.”

As the relief kicked in, Harry sucked in another sharp breath. “Okay.”

“And um,” Louis continued, wiping his face entirely while repositioning in his seat up to four times until he found himself closer to Harry, reaching for a hand to hold. Their fingers laced like cotton yarn, warm and compassionate. “I always thought you and I were mutually immature, hating each other for no apparent reason, but—“ He shook his head, smiling bitterly at their intertwined hands. “I was a fucking disgrace. That’s what I was. You had a reason, but I—“

“I _didn’t_ have a reason. You forgot about that night. Simple as that. It was the tequila, it gives you blackouts. I believed you when you told me.”

“Harry, darling.” Finally, Louis looked up, teary eyed meeting bloodshot. “You’re not being fair to yourself. The only reason you were rude to me, was because I was rude to _you._  That’s it. The day you thought I would invite you over for coffee, I _ignored_ you.”

“But you didn’t _know_.”

“I still had no reason to be rude.”

“Fine, yes,” Harry agreed and stroked his thumb over Louis’ knuckle. “It was immature, I know. But you’re not immature now. You’ve made up for everything. You’ve showed me that you were worth waiting for.”

With a blank expression, Louis stared into Harry’s eyes for long, maybe ten seconds before answering, “I can’t believe you waited a whole year, and I knew nothing.”

“Well.” Harry smiled shyly. “You were my first kiss. It was special to me.”

Wet eyelashes blinked in front of Louis’ sky blue eyes. “Wait a minute—“

“Yes.”

This time, the eyes narrowed. “This whole time, I’ve been envying the guy who was first to kiss you, and it’s been me all along?”

Then, Louis’ wrist was hugged by Harry’s spare hand. Harry grinned, eyes still glassy from the tears. “Sorry. Technically, that wasn’t a _lie_. I just didn’t ever tell you who it was.”

They were both smiling, Louis muting the hushed TV on the remote control. After tossing it, he grasped both of Harry’s shins to manoeuvre them, guiding his legs over his own thighs. Taking Harry’s hand, Louis brought his second one to his neck, pulling him in and easing close for further contact. His thumb stroked just below Harry’s ear, gaze slowly diverting between his mouth and dolorous yet half-elated eyes.

“You had me moonstruck,” Louis hummed. Lining their foreheads together, Harry giggled breathily. “And yeah, I have to stop drinking tequila. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t wish to go back and change everything, though. It wouldn’t make sense to mess with whatever created _this_.” In the lightest motion, Louis rubbed his nose against Harry’s from the side. “But more than anything, I’m sorry I let you believe I was trying to erase you from my memory.”

“It’s okay now,” Harry mumbled, tucking a smile under his front teeth. “It wouldn’t be right of me to blame you when it wasn’t your own choice to forget.”

There wasn’t time for Louis to contradict or commentate, because immediately upon his opening mouth, Harry had upreared from his angled posture and guided his thighs over Louis’ before gently plunging down onto his lap. Neither was Louis prepared for Harry’s kittenish gestures, such as the eye-batting and mildly gyrating hips. Ruffled fringe, glossy bottom lip, roseate cheeks, come-hither eyes: basically the recipe to Harry’s cajolery.

“An octopus has three hearts.”

Yet another exhale slipped out of Louis, this one signifying joy. “I bet it does.”

“I feel like I am one.”

“An octopus?”

“I feel like I have three hearts.” As Louis’ amused expression softened, Harry’s fingers drifted to the nape of Louis’ neck, fondling there. “Because all my life, mine has been beating the same, until now. Under these circumstances, it’s completely out of order. Chaotic. It triples in speed and capacity when I’m kissing you.”

Having Harry perched on his lap while being praised with sweet comments that were all so _Harry,_ was enough to make Louis’ heart swell, too. Remorse had suddenly been replaced by pride. So Louis simply relaxed and eased back against the cushion, slack and sly when Harry started sucking on his earlobe.

“Kiss me then,” Louis slipped in.

Inch by inch, Harry puckered kisses along Louis’ neck and jaw, finishing up just below his slack bottom lip. One of Louis’ index fingers curled under Harry’s chin to adjust the height and angle of his face, eventually letting their mouths openly meet, wet and warm as they leisurely licked their way inside.

Right away, sloppy sounds were exchanged in between them, altering in pace back and forth. A pleasant hum kicked out of Louis when Harry slipped his slightly chilly fingers under the end of Louis’ tank top, padding fondly over the abdominal muscles underneath.

Easing back, his breath hot against Louis’ wetted philtrum, Harry asked, “Can I take your top off?”

“You absolutely can.”

It was tossed aside, and Harry’s hands were fondling all over Louis’ warm, exposed torso. They kissed in a slow pace, Louis holding Harry’s hips firmly while Harry gradually gyrated sensually against Louis’ crotch.

“Lou,” Harry grunted after pulling away, somewhat breathless.

“Mm?”

“Tonight’s a good moment. _This_ is. Today is someday. Right now.”

Louis panted silently. “Wha—“

“I want you,” Harry said timorously, glee sneaking into his voice. Holding their continual eye contact, Harry caressed his hand along the side of Louis’ ribs. “I’ve been preparing for a long time, and I’m ready now. For you.”

Humming to himself, Louis smiled widely, his teeth gleaming. “Right now?”

“It’s like I’ve never seen you happier.”

They both laughed and Louis dipped in, sucking Harry’s lips into a kiss, calmly pulling away a couple moments later.

“Very happy,” Louis chimed and waggled his brows playfully, comfortably tucking his hands under Harry’s thighs. “Now I know why you so urgently needed a shower.”

Since it appeared convenient, Louis decided to carry him. Having heaved Harry up by his thighs, standing upright with his legs folded around him, Louis ambled towards the bedroom, kissing him peacefully in the process. He tried to peer over Harry’s shoulder, eventually steering them both through the ill-lighted opening.

It was pitch-dark inside, hence Louis’ kneecaps accidentally bumping into the frame of Harry’s bed. He stilled in his tracks, kissed Harry with a firmer force, and slowly placed him down in the mattress before easing back towards the doorway.

Harry sat up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go get lube and a condom. A towel should be needed, too.”

“I have all of that.”

Harry’s dark silhouette moved back in the linens and reached for the metallic string to the bedside table lamp, finally tugging it down. A mellow sheen of light dispersed in the corner of the green-walled room. After pulling out the drawer to collect the first two mentioned items, Harry fetched the third from where it hung over a knob to the timbered chest of drawers.

“This is fucking cute,” Louis said, smiling in admiration while thumbing down the waistband to his sweats.

“When I told you I prepared,” Harry said through an equally wide smile, watching Louis as he kicked out of his bottoms and kneeled down in the mattress, “I meant in every area.”

The essentials were lined up beside Harry’s thigh where he sat cross-legged and shyly inspected Louis through his eyelashes. Climbing close, Louis combed four fingers into the curls at Harry’s temple, kissing him gracefully.

“Wanna have the light on or off?” Louis asked after carefully edging back.

“On.”

Louis’ lips jerked into a lopsided smile. He pinched the end of Harry’s crimson t-shirt, arching a brow as if to mutely ask for permission to pull up. Harry nodded, arms outstretched when Louis trailed the fabric upward and tugged the collar past his disarrayed mop of hair. Instead of flinging the clothing item aside, Louis deliberately draped it over the white lamp shade. To their delight, Harry’s threadbare t-shirt washed the room in a red sheen, its warm shade cascading over their pale limbs and bodies.

Full of pride, Louis was grinning into their following kiss, giggling through his nose when he felt Harry doing the same. They pulled away just as Louis’ fingers slipped under the waistband to Harry’s Adidas joggers. He was yet to trail them down when he’d detected the feel of the fabric underneath, freezing at the touch of lace over Harry’s hip bone.

Driven by exhilaration, he slipped the joggers past the swell of Harry’s glutes to reveal the black, nearly see-through lingerie tightly strapped over Harry’s groin. He halted in awe, eventually glancing up to see Harry’s amused grin. As joyed as a child on Christmas Day, Louis continued to yank down Harry’s bottoms, ultimately fetching the hem of his ankle socks and tugging all items off in one go.

“You’ve just made me even fucking happier.”

“Figured I would,” Harry said, grin lingering.

Levelling his face with Harry’s nearly hairless thigh, Louis pressed down three kisses in a trail over the warm skin. He stilled firmly at the ending spot, biting the pale flesh while sucking down another kiss. Harry gasped at the harsh gesture and Louis pulled away to inspect the mark he’d left, smirking proudly.

To reach further up, Louis crawled closer in the linens and placed a hand on Harry’s hip. Receiving a reassuring smile from Harry, he gripped the firm line of Harry’s cock through the tight lace, lowering his face down to press his lips to the rounded scrotum. He kissed the smooth flesh while letting his gentle hand trace along Harry’s length from the stem, stalling his fingers when they found the sensitive head. Through Harry’s thin knickers, Louis moved to circle his lips around the hidden cockhead, sucking gently while eyeing Harry’s reaction.

The boy squirmed down and gasped when Louis added pressure with his lips, his fingers slow as they played with Harry’s strapped-down balls. While his mouth moved back to the love-bite on Harry’s inner thigh, Louis fitted three fingers under the narrow waistband to Harry’s lingerie, gently tugging them down to let him spring free, releasing the waistband just below his darker testicles.

“My baby’s _hung_.” Louis smiled, fisting the shaft and stroking it down. “This is a nice size. Very lovely.” Open-mouthed, he kissed its veiny side, lips popping off. “Really hard, too. That’s a good sign.”

A strong lick followed, ending in a flick at the cockhead where he sucked down, tip bumping into his supple inner cheek. He focused on the head for a while, stimulating the raphe with a darting tongue. Popping off, Louis reached Harry’s balls, encircling one and sucking it into his mouth. As his nose levelled with Harry’s cock, he inhaled deeply and identified the scent of vanilla from Harry’s body wash. In rhythmic motions, he sucked deliberately on each testicle while his hand slowly bobbed over Harry’s cock.

Harry was gasping, searching for an item to clench his fingers around. Soon enough, they curled into the edge of a pillow, bones cracking at the strong force. He let go, repositioned his back against the cushioned headboard and moaned with his eyes squeezed shut, gripping fiercely into the mattress.

“That’s enough for now,” Louis talked to himself, sitting up to help Harry trail out of his knickers entirely before dropping them onto the floor.

He looked up at Harry.

“You alright?”

“I’m—I’m amazing.”

“Good,” Louis chirped, heaving himself up over Harry’s body to kiss him gently. “Can you do one thing for me?” Harry nodded urgently. “Turn over. Lie on your stomach.”

Harry’s body swivelled in the red glow, falling flatly in the sheets (which had turned baby pink under the tone of Harry’s resplendent t-shirt around the lampshade).

“God fucking bless,” Louis whispered, placing a hand on one of Harry’s plush arse cheeks. Knowing it would drive Louis crazy, Harry wriggled into the mattress, arse swaying under Louis’ palm. “Oh _fuck_ me.”

“Take me,” Harry murmured into his own shoulder, face matching the colour of the air.

Their eyes locked, Louis’ widening. “Don’t challenge me, Harry.”

A little shyer, Harry bit his lower lip. He wriggled again, grinding his pelvis dryly into the mattress. Another gasp pressed through, and Harry felt Louis’ eyes darkening on him.

“Lay still,” he demanded, his strong hand squeezing the flesh to Harry’s arse cheek.

“Why?”

“Because I say so.”

Lowering himself on the mattress, Louis edged close to the cleft of Harry’s cheeks and detached them with both hands to eventually dip down in between. Harry’s skin was smooth and hairless, pink around the hole. Louis could still feel his eyes on him, presumably wary when he observed him place his mouth down to wetly kiss the closed rim. Even there, Harry’s milky shower gel was prominent, pacifically seeping into Louis’ nostrils.

Breathing in, Louis striped his tongue over Harry’s tightening ring muscle. He was slow, gently separating Harry’s cheek even further to have him opening up. The stripes grew even slower, strong as they darted inside the rim, licking firmly to hear more of Harry’s strained gasps. His tongue became more frantic with time, gradually matching the speed of Harry’s lecherous whines.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Louis said, licking his lips while easing back. “Did you scrub vanilla all over yourself? Taste like a fucking cupcake.”

“What—“ Harry twisted gently, a layer of sweat coated over his forehead. “Is it bad?”

“No, _great_.” Louis smiled and thumbed the rim, Harry shivering under him. He dipped down again, licking calmly into the hole. Before talking, he ran his tongue over his slobbery lips. “Just because I don’t eat sugary things doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy tasting them.”

Harry’s head dropped loosely into the pillow. “It … It fuckin’ feels good, that’s for sure.”

Plunging down, Louis flicked his tongue repeatedly, pulling another few whines from behind Harry’s bitten-down lip. He kneaded the cheeks when Harry’s hips bucked up, licking more firmly once he was able to attain a better angle. He continued until he’d lost his breath completely, pulling away to inhale.

“I could do _this_ for hours.”

Harry swayed slightly. “Really?”

“Probably, yeah. But that’s for another time.”

The bottle of lube was uncapped with a subtle click, firm in Louis’ palm. He squeezed a portion of gel onto three fingers and repositioned on the mattress, kneeling down in between the vee of Harry’s thighs.

“This will be cold, so beware.”

He slipped one hand down, separating Harry’s arse cheeks with the other. Just as Louis padded his gooey index finger against the rim, Harry gasped and tensed up, flesh tightening around Louis’ hand. He pushed them apart again and wriggled a single finger inside while fiercely fighting against Harry’s strained muscles. Squirming gently, Harry moaned to himself, muffled by the pillow.

“Good boy. Stay calm.”

The rim had reached Louis’ knuckle when his finger curled, twisting to stretch at different angles. He pumped it slowly, quickly finding the route to Harry’s prostate gland where it rubbed gently to hear him whining. Pumping again, he found an optimal rhythm. Another finger then aligned with the first, gradually slipping all the way inside.

“ _Lou_.” Harry writhed gingerly, Louis’ fingers halting. “More lube, I think. It … stings.”

He removed his fingers and seized the bottle, practically drenching his fingers in lube before replacing them at the rim. Two were pushed inside to their knuckles, Louis pumping them gently until Harry’s muscles relaxed around him.

“That nice?”

“Mm,” Harry half-moaned into his pillow.

As Louis’ third finger slipped in, he was stroking along Harry’s slippery walls until it was safe to speed up. He trailed back to the prostate and rubbed all three fingers against the bump. Harry whimpered, repeatedly humped his pelvic bones into the linens, and rolled his hips in sync with Louis’ moving hand.

“Greedy baby,” Louis mumbled and moved down to kiss Harry’s inner thigh, gently sucking over the light bruise. “So perfect for me.”

Again and again, Harry’s hips bucked up against Louis’ fingers, adding pressure to his pumping motions. They sped up, Harry squirming and swaying, sweat layering in his spine, glowing under the scarlet lighting. Louis’ lips stayed passive on Harry’s thigh, eventually leaving kisses all the way up to the billowy flesh of his arse cheek.

“Agh, Lou, it feels _good_ ,” Harry dragged the finishing word out, voice high and whiny.

Louis slowed his fingers and rubbed over Harry’s sensitive prostate gland one last time before slipping back to wipe his hand clean on Harry’s blue-grey towel.

After witnessing Louis’ beckoning gesticulation, Harry tipped over on his back and reached his arms after Louis as he began climbing on top. His fingers clasped firmly on Louis’ shoulders as he extended his neck to fasten their mouths together, Louis’ tongue dipping warmly in a soothing gesture.

Their kisses were long and slow, wetter and more open-mouthed the longer they went on. Puffs of fog touched over their mouths, one heavy breath following after the other. Catching one of Harry’s hot exhales into his mouth, Louis gripped harder behind his neck, toes curling and drilling into the mattress.

In moments like these, Louis would always end up clinging onto Harry the same way. Their tongues would twirl, toss and tangle, Louis’ sucking and searching for a significant taste. A mild, barely-there flavour of honey gathered on Louis’ tongue, presumably deriving from whatever lip balm Harry seemed to have put on after showering. It wasn’t familiar to Louis’ taste buds, but still nearly as enjoyable as the remains of vanilla spice coated all over his smooth body.

“Hey, Heartbreaker,” Louis purred against Harry’s mouth, pelvis rutting gently, crotch rubbing crotch. “Everything good?”

“Really good. Strange, but good.”

“What’s strange? Being naked in front of me?”

“That yeah, and getting … fingered.”

Louis’ eyelids flickered, hand fondling along Harry’s heated jaw. “Really? Fingering? Haven’t tried on your own?”

“I have. I _do_. A lot.” Amusement dispersed over Louis’ hot features, eyes crinkling, smile evolving, brows arching. “But I’m not flexible, so it’s always from an awkward angle. Having you do it was just … a lot nicer.”

“To be fair, I noticed your lube bottle had definitely been used before,” Louis said, twirling a curl in Harry’s dewy strands of hair, Harry blushing. “Bizarre question, but do you have a dildo?”

“I don’t,” Harry replied, still blushing. “I just use lube for um, fingering. That’s it.”

Louis smiled mischievously. “Ever used something other than fingers?”

“What, like a carrot?”

A fruity laugh bubbled from Louis’ throat, his head tipping into Harry’s neck. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He kissed Harry’s bulging artery. “Just wondering. It’s good to know.”

“No, you dirty fuck. I haven’t.”

“Fine. Just asking. You never know.”

“However,” Harry drawled and slid a hand between their clammy bodies, “I’m planning on trying this one.” His fingers gripped Louis’ cock through his boxers, making his breath hitch against Harry’s cheek. “Think it’ll get in?”

Swaying back, Louis kneeled down between Harry’s thighs and brushed his wrist out of the way. Since Harry’s emerald eyes were curiously fixated on him, Louis made sure to flex, his hips swaying playfully when he tugged down his black boxers briefs. Having his cock slapping up against his abdomen was satisfying for them both, as Louis was entirely keen on watching Harry’s face change from eager to down-right lascivious.

“Fuck. Almost forgot how massive you are,” Harry said, gulping.

Chuckling friskily, Louis picked up the Magnum condom with the letters XL written across. “Sure about that?”

Harry bit into his knuckle while smiling, a breathy laugh puffing through. “They can’t be too big, can they? I figured—“

“It’s fine,” Louis said on a smile before ripping the plastic with his teeth. “I like you picking for me. It’s sexy. Besides, Magnum’s good. Extra-Large is definitely suitable.”

Louis placed the gooey latex ring over his cockhead, slowly trailing it down to the base. As anticipated, Harry’s newly purchased rubber fit securely around Louis’ cock, which swayed when he moved forward to grab the bottle of lube again. Uncapping it a second time, Louis coated his shaft in gel and sunk lower down into the mattress. He wiped his hands on the towel and bent down to reach Harry’s untouched thigh. Eventually, he had sucked and nibbled to leave a mark nearly identical to the one on the opposite leg.

“Are you claiming me, or what?”

“Just leaving traces. Marking territory.”

Threading his fingers through Louis’ fringe, Harry chuckled quietly. “Why? Nobody else will see them. It’s not like I’ll be flashing my thighs to anyone but you.”

“Are you asking me to leave a hickey on your forehead, where everyone can see?” Louis joked, continuing to line kisses, finally nearing Harry’s rounded testicles. “You’ve got nice thighs, that’s all. I like giving them the attention they deserve.”

While keeping tabs on Louis’ movements, Harry practically laid in seventh heaven. He was grinning to himself when Louis’ mouth retraced its steps back to licking his balls in stripes. His lips and tongue kneaded the delicate skin, gradually dampening Harry’s smoothly shaven groin with saliva. Right when Louis sucked Harry’s cockhead into his cheek, Harry’s upper body jerked up against the cushiony headboard, his face crumbling.

Louis’ lips popped wetly, Harry’s cock clapping down against his flat stomach. “Are you eager now? Impatient?”

“Yeah, _please_ , begin, take me, _fuck_ me.”

Fires inflamed in Louis’ pupils, tongue kitten-licking Harry’s raphe. “Hm?”

“Foreplay’s over.”

“That so?”

There, Harry’s legs kicked in anticipation, his clammy forehead wrinkling as another whine came through. Another few licks were grazed onto the underside of Harry’s cock before Louis moved up. Edging forward, Louis lined up his waist with Harry’s inner thighs and guided his boyfriend’s calves until they curled around his waist. As Harry’s lower half was then hoisted into the air and legs spread widely apart, Louis could grab the boy’s sides and move fittingly close.

“Looking gorgeous,” he commented and thumbed his cock down towards Harry’s pubic area, his second arm reaching for Harry’s on the side. “Gimme your hand, love.”

Their fingers clenched together mid-air, Harry’s bottom lip hanging loose as Louis nudged forward, his cock prodding gently over Harry’s perspiry rim. A gasp was pulled out of Harry, his chewed-down fingernails clawing into the back of Louis’ hand.

Louis basically radiated devotion, his thumb caressing Harry’s knuckle to divert his attention elsewhere. And as Harry regained steady breaths, Louis seized the day and finally sunk inside. Harry’s hole quickly engulfed the head, his warm muscles tensing up around its width.

Tipping his torso over Harry’s, Louis let their intertwined hands dig deep into the mattress while dragging his spare fingers to Harry’s sweaty neck. They clutched there, gnawing into the skin while Harry set free a guttural moan into Louis’ close-by ear. After easing his hips back, Louis released the pressure. He panted wetly onto Harry’s shoulder before lingeringly rolling back in, barely even halfway to the base. Regardless, this length seemed to be enough to impress Harry, judging by how loud his ragged breaths were, and how harshly his heels were drilling into Louis’ lower back.

“Agh, Lou,” Harry expressed on a pure moan, automatically knocking his boyfriend’s pride up another few levels. “Keep going…”

[ Seventeen - Troye Sivan ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7iyKbBjb2fmTnTfCjCh7ER?si=DBazWOmxTI2Q-h347V_Phw)

Bliss, euphoria, inevitable rapture, it was all seeping out of Louis’ ears. Even though they were merely five seconds in, nearly spaced out and had barely even begun, he was enforced to jam his face into Harry’s neck, biting and sucking through heavy breathing. Nothing would ever live up to this very fucking moment, he thought. Nothing could even compare, and they had barely begun.

The perspiration on Louis’ forehead gnawed along Harry’s neck, heavy sobs shuddering from Louis’ nose and mouth. He knocked his hips back, gradually steering ahead again, ultimately easing in another inch. Raspy and high-pitched, Harry gasped openly while Louis’ lower moans vibrated against the juncture of Harry’s jawline.

“Fuck, I’m— _Shit_. That’s good.” Moving one hand to Harry’s pillow, Louis heaved himself up halfway to observe Harry’s face. Equally flushed and open-mouthed, they locked eyes and gasped, Louis’ hips rolling to eventually prod into Harry’s prostate. “Feels good?”

Harry cried out during the gentle clash, his free fingers curling firmly over the linens. “Mm-hm. It burns a little. J-Just a little.”

Shifting, Louis kept his fingers reverently secured with Harry’s. He curved his spine backwards, grasping the base to leave Harry empty. More gel was applied all around and inside the rim, eventually—when Harry’s thighs ardently bucked up against Louis’ groin—rutting forward and dumping the weight of his torso over Harry’s.

“Still bad?”

“N-No. It was never bad.” The drilling of his heels into Louis’ back, the curling of his toes, and the ecstatic whimpering into Louis’ neck; all of the above reinforced Harry’s objection. So Louis gently pushed further, sucking wetly over Harry’s bulging throat. “This—Oh _crap_. It feels amazing.”

Louis leisurely pumped his hip bones, openly gasping onto Harry’s collarbone. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Harry eagerly urged his thighs upward. “ _More_ ,” he drawled. “Please, _more_.”

Louis’ bent legs were jammed against the underside of Harry’s thighs as leverage to rut into him from where he laid supine, heels digging deeper into Louis’ spine by the minute.

All the while, Louis had been cruising in first gear, observant of any potential red traffic lights or warning signs. But as Harry had given him a green light, Louis confidently shifted into third or possibly fourth gear, and _drove_. Granted, Harry wasn’t a vehicle, but Louis was definitely _driving_. He dipped low, his face crammed into Harry’s neck and cock gliding firmly under Harry’s clenching muscles.

“More, more, _more_ …”

End scene, Louis dies. That would’ve been all right, he thought. Because even if planet Earth carried seven billion people and granted him two-hundred million square meters of unexplored land, Louis currently only cared for _one_ of those people, and _one_ red-lit fucking bedroom. Anything noteworthy seemed to have lost its purpose—regardless of its brilliance or ingenious characteristics—because nothing, really nothing, could overcome _Harry’s_ brilliance, or the way it would make Louis’ heart explode into smithereens of shimmery stardust.

And _there_ : Louis slammed harder, knocking tauntingly into Harry’s prostate, and biting into his fleshy neck when he whimpered. A gasp, a whine, and a raspy moan poured out in a husky mixture into Louis’ ear, Harry’s tone rising in pitch with time. Their pace matched with Louis’ grunts, much like the meaty, rhythmic sound of his balls slapping into Harry’s cheeks.

Eventually, Harry’s arse muscles were thoroughly stretched around him, relaxed and compliant when he whammed in deep. It didn’t change the rough moans, nor the force of his strong legs clenching around Louis’ middle. No, because relaxation apparently _reinforced_ everything. Rocking fearlessly into Harry’s lush body was empowering, even though the eventual clenching caused Louis to twitch and convulse. Like nothing, Harry mastered and played with Louis’ nerve endings as if they were guitar strings. He clocked every move, completely oblivious of his own impact.

“Argh, you’re so deep,” Harry whisper-shouted, legs trembling and feet wobbling while attempting to stay secure around Louis’ body. “So big,” he whined. “So thick.”

“You’re amazing,” Louis grunted, his lips dragging between Harry’s throat and jaw. “Everything you do is just—Oh my _fuck_.” His hip bones smacked harder against Harry’s flesh, Harry’s wet body fluttering around his throbbing cock. “I don’t wanna stop. I just wanna be here for-fucking-ever.”

“Keep going,” Harry whimpered, “I don’t wanna stop either, just—Argh!”

As it turned out, Louis’ experience as a personal trainer truly came in handy. In spite of the ache in his lower back and burning twinge of the nerves in his thighs, Louis _sped up_. His stamina was as efficient as an electric engine, pulling through even when it seemed downright impossible. Even from a slightly ineffective angle, Louis continued rutting like an animal, body clashing sweatily with Harry’s with every aching thrust.

“Louis,” Harry cried out against his cheek, his fingers clawing into the nape of his warm neck. “ _Fuck_ me, Louis, fucking _wreck_ me.”

“Right here?” Louis’ cock slid back before gnawing and knocking against Harry’s prostate gland. Harry moaned out a _yes_ , his body quaking frantically when Louis obeyed. “Like this? This what you need?”

“Argh, yes, yes, _there_!”

Louis wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was crying. Yeah, tears were welling up under the waterline to his eyes, a couple of them sprinkling down his cheek. Blinking them away, he shifted his upper body aside, his face levelling with Harry’s to search for eye contact. He squeezed Harry’s sweaty hand and panted into his mouth, exhausted.

“Harry, look at me.”

He was glad to find Harry’s Bambi eyes equally as watery as his own. Tears hung in beads among his bottom eyelashes, eventually spilling simultaneously with the sped-up pumping of Louis’ hips. In the ruby coloured radiance, shimmer and glints of bliss coated over the dark greenery in Harry’s eyes.

“I’m really close. Are you?”

Harry writhed, nodding and nudging the tears away with his knuckle. “Any minute.”

If eye contact was a kink, that was one of Louis’. Every emotion was visually exposed in each other’s eyes, confirming that they were in fact relishing the same perfect feeling. Tears simply amplified the whole scenario. Both were crying, overawed and thunderstruck, panting and making raspy, deep noises into each other’s mouths. They didn’t have to speak to be enlightened by the other one’s thoughts. They just stared, open-mouthed and teary eyed, and continued rocking until they were both whimpering and convulsing for further friction.

On top of everything else, Louis could easily discover Harry’s feeling of insecurity, hence the undeniable apprehension right before he’d moan or gasp, or the self-accusation that draped his facial features after his legs would writhe or tremble. Clearly, he wasn’t well-informed of how much Louis absolutely _adored_ both these things, which was why Louis felt obliged to restore Harry’s confidence.

“You’re perfect like this,” Louis reassured him and groomed his fingers through Harry’s fuzzy fringe, a chocolate curl swirling fittingly around his ring finger. “Hear me?”

Harry stammered, “I feel—I feel gross.”

“No, _don’t_.” A variety of emotions swarmed from Louis’ following groan (mainly lust and disapproval). “Fuck, Harry, you’re everything _but_ gross. I can’t even—There aren’t any words in my fucking vocabulary to define how good you are.  _Fuck_ your self-image. It—It’s so fucking false. Entirely false. You’re _perfect_.”

It was as if Harry’s breath had hitched in awe of Louis’ objection. As an outcome, the watery beads among his bottom eyelashes trickled down, his fingers nailing sharply over Louis’ sweaty hand. Finally somewhat self-satisfied, Harry writhed back against Louis hip bones. He was nearly reaching his peak, Louis could tell, but he wasn’t ready to let him go.

“Hang in there,” he commanded as a personal request and sped up again, his groin clapping louder against Harry’s clammy skin. “Almost there, gorgeous. Keep it in. Hold it for me.”

As Louis’ fingers were still tangled in Harry’s fringe, they brushed the hair out of his face and kissed his perspiry forehead over and over while securely whamming in-and-out of his wet body.

“Lou, I can’t—I _have_ to cum,” Harry whimpered weakly, moving a hand from Louis’ shoulder to the cramped space between their bellies, desperately circling his fingers around his own cock.

Louis’ leg was cramping, belly lurching deep inside as his contractions grew stronger. Through momentary numbness, he was incapable of replying. He gasped into Harry’s neck, thoroughly compelled by the feeling of groin muscles gracefully shortening. In the midst of everything, Harry choked out a strained cry, his body jerking under Louis’ torso as he came. By instinct, Louis dipped back to watch him, barely cognisant of _anything_ around him. He was still slamming into him when Harry’s muscles collapsed in the sweaty linens, limp and exhausted while coming down from his high.

“Argh, fuck,” Louis groaned, heavily dropping down again with his face roughly shoved into Harry’s neck. “I’m—I’m gonna cum.”

Just as Harry’s thigh hugged harder against Louis’ middle, Louis’ contractions strengthened inside his stomach, extreme blithe and lechery swarming through each and every nerve before finally converging inside his throbbing cock in the form of pulsating vibrations. He lunged forward one last time, gradually spurting into the tight condom while remaining still under the firm pressure of Harry’s compressing walls.

A minute or two passed, both of them sweating and panting under silence.

Louis’ eyes withdrew after having rolled back in his head, lazily sealing. A brume of fresh, masculine sweat, stale peppermint and barely-there vanilla wash coated Harry’s neck. Louis was calmly ecstatic, inhaling deeply while ramming his nose into Harry’s clammy skin. Puckering his lips, he kissed him there, eventually continuing to leave slow, supple smooches all the way down to Harry’s collarbone.

“I’m dying … I’m dead … you’ve killed me,” Louis mumbled, lips vibrating between silken vowels and raspy consonants.

Harry shuddered under Louis’ body as if he’d gotten chills. “Oh, no. Oh my God."

Putting his hand down, Louis hoisted himself up to catch Harry’s eye. His sweaty face had blanched, skin whiter than the sheets.

“What’s the matter?”

“Reo and Haruto are gonna think _I’ve_ been killed, and I’m pretty sure I screamed _your_ name somewhere along the way.”

“Reo and—“ Louis blinked, gradually connecting the dots. “The Japanese kids?”

“Their bedroom is on the other side of this wall.”

It wasn’t meant to happen, but Louis burst out laughing, covering his mouth. “I’m sorry. I just—“ His giggles cut him off. “Harry, don’t worry about it. How old are they?”

“Five and seven.”

Louis moved his hand from his mouth to Harry’s cheek, his thumb stroking the skin. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, smiling. “If it becomes a problem, I’ll talk to them about it and easily convince ‘em I’m not a cold-blooded murderer.”

The crease between Harry’s brows slowly dissolved. “Okay. Thanks.”

 

…

 

“Here’s your microwaved spaghetti bolognese, my darling. Homemade by … yourself, I assume?” Harry nodded with a prideful grin before Louis continued, kneeling down in Harry’s white, terry towelling dressing gown. “Perfect then.”

“I didn’t know room service included a naked guy in _my_ robe.”

Louis’ tongue clicked, an unbalanced smirk evolving. “It’s our Friday special. Order one meal and get a sexy side dish in the bargain.”

They both smiled, Louis handing Harry a glass of milk and placing down the dinner plate on the comforter over Harry’s lap. He shimmied out of the dressing gown and let it topple onto the floor. In front of Harry’s curious eyes, he nakedly climbed up beside him, tucking his legs and crotch under the warm, feathery, cotton comforter.

“Your cock looks like it just returned from war,” said Harry while rotating his fork into the ketchup-drenched gob of spaghetti.

Louis laughed raspily. “It’s a bit knackered, yeah. How’re you?”

“Sore and _tired_.”

Ten minutes later, Harry had finished his dinner, feeding Louis with some along the way. They shared his milk, too, Harry licking the whiteness off Louis’ upper lip when it lingered on his fuzzy skin.

“Fuck, I really have to sleep,” Louis said and exhaled, his belly dropping. “This day has been very … active. For starters, my client and I had an exhausting session, and since I felt really good after that, I decided to hit the gym while I was still energetic.” He turned to Harry, giving him a look. “Evidently, you know the rest of the story.”

“So, a double-workout and hardcore sex in one day?”

Louis smiled toothily. “A lot of sweat and tears, yeah.”

“Speaking of, I can’t believe we _cried_ during sex.”

“Hey,” Louis cooed. “Don’t make fun of us. Crying’s cool. We were emotionally happy ‘cause we’re glad we’re finally boning.”

Drowsy and bubbly with laughter, Harry leaned his head against Louis’ shoulder. “True. I actually really liked _boning_ you.”

Knowing he’d make him laugh again in advance, Louis said, “Finally we have something in common.”

 


	10. a beautiful coincidence

 

Between the two of them, Harry always seemed to be the first to fall asleep.

Facing a choice between peace and remorse, Louis’ subliminal self had naturally picked the latter. And even though Louis would’ve preferred flaking out, his lethargy was entirely disregarded by his subconscious. It really sucked, being insomnious and enervated all at once, but at least he was occupied.

He was watching Harry sleep.

It wasn’t pitch dark, nor was the crimson glow there to illuminate their bodies. The effulgence of frosty moonlight spewed from between the narrow opening between Harry’s curtains, painting his features like acrylics on a canvas. In this setting, Louis drew a parallel with himself and a candle, as he was the only factor still awake in the room, burning because of Harry, flame wavering much like Louis’ sprawling thoughts.

He wondered if this was what it was like on the roof all those months ago. He wondered if the lighting was similar, and if Harry was equally as happy now compared to then.

A sudden urge lead Louis to place his lips where Harry’s cheek was the smoothest. He kissed him there, simply because Harry was a wondrous treasure, and such thing deserved absolute, unlimited mollycoddling, and goddamnit, because Louis _wanted_ to.

“So, so sorry, Einstein,” he whispered and stroked his knuckles over the newly kissed area. He knew Harry wasn’t awake, and Louis wasn’t religious, but _if_ there was a heaven, then perhaps a celestial angel, divine messenger or other spiritual being, could collect or save the words and that kiss in a folder, and kindly, spiritually hand it to Harry in the morning. Like, in his head, maybe.

Since Louis felt responsible, he made sure to tuck Harry in deliberately under the plush comforter, stroking his forehead to brush the curls out of his face. In its centre, he placed another chaste kiss, because perhaps _Harry_ was a fallen angel, and perhaps Louis was so captivated that he had received a divine revelation overnight.

“Please don’t wake up and go look for me,” Louis said, no longer knowing if he was talking to a distant messenger in heaven, or Harry’s angelic subconscious. “If you do,” he added, “I’ll be on the roof.”

Louis had never seen a living creature be so peaceful. Harry’s facial features had been enchanted by a sleeping curse, yeah, he was a real-life sleeping beauty, his nose and brows not even showing a wrinkle or two. Likewise, his eyelids barely wavered, and the golden lashes perched along their outer edge appeared elongated and so phantasmally immaculate that they almost seemed fake. Harry’s upper lip formed a mellow, flushed arc, redder towards the opening where it hovered above its adjacent twin, which wasn’t identical, but equally as tempting for Louis’ mouth.

Perhaps Louis had to rewrite history, because this _was_ an angel and _the_ sleeping beauty, both at the same time.

Even though Louis could’ve stayed for five minutes or maybe even five _hours_ to kiss Harry’s powdery pale skin until it would turn blue, he knew it hadn’t been right. The moon, presumably in its crescent form, was waiting for Louis in the night-air.

A plum-purple Jack Wills hoodie was perched in the outer edge of Harry’s drawer. Before yanking it over his head, Louis stepped into a clean pair of underwear and Harry’s black Nike joggers.

Their quadratic rooftop was entirely abandoned.

Like in Harry’s memory, the air did indeed transmit a sheer radiance of moonlight, but not it wasn’t as charming as Harry had described. Most of it all bore resemblance to the illustration Harry had helped Louis paint in his mind. As he attempted recalling the story, he squinted his tired eyes and overlooked the nearly quiescent traffic, the distant streetlights and the similarly bright stars in the obsidian sky.

He decided that they must’ve been moongazing on the east side of the building, where the moon gawked right back at him.

Finding a reasonable place, he strode up to the barricade and crawled his fingers around the railing to recreate the picture he’d pieced together based on Harry’s narrative. And even though a lot of things added up, most of them didn’t. For starters, Harry wasn’t there. Secondly, the railing was much colder than Louis had imagined. And yeah, the second worst part was how the moon wasn’t even full. It was fucking crescent. Its shape was thin and wanky enough for Louis to want to spit angrily in the open air. But he didn’t do so, because Harry probably wouldn’t have liked him to.

 _Tomorrow, I’ll invite you over. For coffee. So you can tell me more about space. Or whatever else_.

The toe cap of Louis’ shoe kicked into the bottom railing, then brushed along the cement floor. He crouched down, face crumbling when his gaze scanned along the barricade, almost hoping he wouldn’t find what he was looking for. Maybe, if he’d been lucky, it would’ve been decayed during the rainfall, or scraped out by somebody else.

_Promise?_

Thinking of Harry’s tears and recalling the sound of his narrating voice created a lump in Louis’ throat. Through watery eyes, he stilled his gaze on a particular mark in the ground, teardrops trickling down after distinguishing the grotesque handwriting. Seeing it with his own eyes was even more appalling than he’d imagined. Maybe because it had been a _lie_. A stupid lie, that he wasn’t even capable of taking back.

As his fingers stroked over the engraved letters, Louis’ eyes flicked to find the adjacent cement shard. It slipped firmly into his hand, knuckles curling and tightening as he closed his fist around the sharp piece.

_There. It’s carved in stone, so I can’t break it._

Before he knew it, the sharpest edge of the cement shard had sliced a cut into his palm without him noticing. He released the pressure, mentally blocked out Harry’s voice and exhaled shakily through the tears. A streak of blood upsurged through the narrow gash and Louis quickly sucked into his palm, the subtle taste of iron dissolving on his tongue.

Brimming with exasperation, he chucked the shard fiercely to the ground, gripping firmly onto the barricade.

The piece belonged to his inaccessible subconscious mind, and holding it didn’t retrace a memory of the past, contrarily to what Louis had hoped. It was just a stupid piece of cement. A stupid, unreliable, traitorous piece of _fucking_ cement. And yeah, maybe his drunken self had done this merely for the purpose of self-torture. A simple lie would’ve been enough, but to _carve it in stone_? It was physical evidence, and there was no escape route where Louis could flee and be free from guilt and self-hatred.

It was for certain: Louis would never retrace a single memory from their first meeting, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Pointless. Everything was downright pointless.

 

…

 

A car horn honked and Louis awakened, flinching into a sitting-up posture. He dusted off his cheek and rubbed his right arm to graze the cotton fabric of Harry’s hoodie against his goosebumped skin.

Through five metallic bars, he overlooked the neighbouring apartment buildings, stunned to be welcomed by the sun rising above their equally tall rooftops. Rays in amber and tangerine transmitted from the same circular origin, dispersed over the pale-blue atmosphere and forced Louis’ fatigued eyes entirely open. He stretched his pained back and limbs, eventually standing up. Considering how tender he’d been feeling the night before, he certainly didn’t feel good this morning, reviving at dawn with a piercing headache under his skull.

Having ambled painfully down the top three stairways, Louis reached the fifth floor and kneeled down to grab Harry’s spare key under the doormat. He turned it in the keyhole, jerked down the brass handle and traced the key back to its ludicrous hiding place.

“Where have you _been_?”

Louis had just kicked out of his shoes when Harry’s feet padded into the hallway. He was bleary-eyed with wetted cheeks, his naked body wrapped in the white comforter.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to—“ He stopped himself when Harry burst, face crumbling completely, tears exploding. “Hey. _Hey_ ,” Louis whispered gently, stepping close to let his arms slip under Harry’s cotton-clad armpits. He hugged him tightly, peppering slow kisses into his temple. “I’m right _here_. Always am.”

“Except you _weren’t_ for the three hours during which I sat awake, trying to convince myself I had woken up to a nightmare.”

Louis’ hands slipped from Harry’s back to his blood-heated cheeks. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was meant to come back after like, ten minutes, but I accidentally fell asleep. I didn’t think you’d wake up while I was gone.”

“Where did you go? I was knocking on your door for like half an hour.”

“To the rooftop,” Louis answered, and Harry’s features softened slightly. “I was watching the moon, at _that_ spot, to see if I could remember.” Another few tears trickled from Harry’s jaw, absorbing into the Jack Wills hoodie. “But I don’t. I don’t remember, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Processing Louis’ words, Harry sniffled wetly and wiped his eye. “Oh.”

“I’m still knackered,” Louis sighed, “and you must be, too.” He stepped even closer, tucking their foreheads together. “ _Please,_  let’s go back to bed. This is where I want to be, okay? With you, _always_ with you.”

Harry hiccuped, sliding his hands into the wide pocket of the purple hoodie. “So, you aren’t disappointed with what happened last night?”

“What? _Of course_ not.” Louis frowned, thumbs collecting Harry’s fresh tears. “It’s the polar opposite, darling. Everything that happened last night made me fucking _ecstatic_.”

They both stilled, Harry’s big eyes hopeful as they kept blinking away the tears.

“Even though I was completely wrecked, I couldn’t sleep, because—“

Louis’ whole world suddenly halted right before him, his heart skipping twice as quickly. Three particular words echoed loudly inside his head until he vocalised them, his stomach dropping in the process.

“Because I love you, and I wish I could fix everything.”

 _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , the echoes continued, and Louis watched the comprehension settle over Harry’s tranquilising facial features. Along with this, Harry’s breath quickened, his swollen eyes welling up again.

Evidently, Louis had taken a gamble, and Harry not answering right away concerned him. It was terrifying, but he could finally somewhat simmer down when Harry flung both his arms around Louis’ neck and snuggled fondly into his upper torso. Somehow, time seemed to have changed in pace. Because before Louis knew it, him and Harry were side-by-side in bed, playing with each other’s fingers.

“Everything has already been fixed,” mumbled Harry. “Ever since we first started hanging out in March, you’ve _been_ fixing it.”

Louis could feel himself frowning, and let the grimace falter. “Really?”

A curl swayed over Harry’s forehead when he nodded, and Louis picked at it. “I was crazy to believe you’d be careless enough to leave me in the middle of the night.” Right when Louis’ hand slipped down, Harry grabbed it and held it close to his heart. “‘Cause I know you, and nobody’s ever cared for me the way you do.”

“I wish I could remember that night.”

Harry sighed, nodded understandingly and squeezed Louis’ hand, his fingertips padding over Harry’s beating heart. He couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin was there, and how vividly his heart rate was thumping against the tip of Louis’ fingers.

“I … love you.”

A breathy laugh slipped from Louis’ mouth, his brows pushing together. “Oh, thank _God_ ,” he breathed, and Harry bit down a smile. “I was already planning to write a song about unrequited love and everything.” They both grinned, Harry grimacing with glassy eyes, their lips barely meeting. “But I guess that won’t be happening.”

“I didn’t purposely leave you hanging. I just couldn’t say it. It’s—It's a scary phrase.”

Louis’ hand blanketed Harry’s cheek as he smiled blissfully, his teeth gleaming. “It feels good hearing it, though, doesn’t it?”

Harry brushed their noses together, Louis’ smile closing as they both leaned in for a warm, mind-numbing kiss. Oozing with satisfaction, Louis hummed against Harry and began trailing the Jack Wills hoodie up his tensed-up stomach. They separated when the thick cotton fabric reached his chin, and Harry urgently helped him yank the collar over his head.

“It’s not even six in the morning,” Louis said after having thrown an eye at Harry’s antique alarm clock. “Let’s catch some fucking Z’s.” Harry laughed and rolled close, eyes squinting tiredly. “Or else I’ll _actually_ be dead by noon, and the Sugimotos will think _you’re_ the serial killer out of the two of us.”

Harry’s purring laughter vibrated against Louis’ naked pec. “If this was four months ago, you’d be waking up to go on a morning run right now.” A yawn made him pause, his hand flattening down on Louis’ abs. “And I’d be sitting on my balcony, sipping chocolate milk through a polka dot straw while watching you sweatily rush by in your gym wear.”

A sly smirk curved on Louis’ face. “You used to deny watching me whenever I teased you for it. Should I admit to a secret too?”

Harry arched one brow.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

While brushing a finger in the lines between Louis’ abs, Harry nestled into his torso. “I don’t care if you’re lying. Hearing you say that feels absolutely magical.”

“Harry,” Louis said and grabbed his hand, stroking it idly. “I won’t ever lie to you. Neither will I ever break another promise. _That’s_ a promise. It isn’t carved in stone, but maybe I could carve it into your heart. That way you’ll be reminded every time it beats.”

Time stilled for a moment, and Harry’s voice gradually quieted down. “If I’m Einstein, are you Cummings?”

Louis wrinkled his brow, grinning mischievously. “Sounds about right. Who’s that?”

“C’mon,” Harry said, tutting his tongue. “Edward Estlin Cummings. Practically the most well-known romantic poet. _Only by you my heart always moves_?”

Louis pinched Harry’s nose. “Cute one, Big Brains. Then I guess I’m Mr. _Cummings_. In a polysemous way.”

“You’re childish.”

“Says the nineteen-year-old who, by the way, owns a pair of _Care Bears_ ankle socks.”

“It’s for the nostalgia!”

Louis giggled through a smile, eyes crinkling as his lips pressed against Harry’s. “N’night, darling. We both know our conversations are never-ending in the AM, and if we start arguing now, we’re gonna end up wasting the entire day by sleeping the evening away.”

“True.” Harry rejoined their lips, kissing him firmly. “N’night, babe—Wait,” he said with a quirky grin. “Now that you’ve said you’re so big on loyalty, will you promise to wake me with a breakfast tray two-point-oh? Eggs, bacon and Mocha Latte?”

Louis’ face softened. “Please notify me if you have any further requests. Thank you, for using Room Service. Your food will be delivered promptly in the morning. Want me in a robe, or simply butt-naked?”

 

…

 

**August, 2019**

 

Lights were dimmed over the mint-green flat when Louis stomped inside. He unplugged his earphones by the wire after getting distracted by the rich, citric scent of burnt Lemon Lavender spilling from the boiling, open-doored bathroom. A billow of steam emitted through the opening, dampening Louis’ skin when he stepped inside, his socks gliding onto the furry bathroom rug.

Noticing Louis’ figure in his periphery and flinching in fear, Harry looked up from his paperback book, dog-eared a page and stretched out of the fizzy water to place it down on the countertop to the sink.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Louis sighed and stepped forth to reach the lukewarm porcelain edge. “I’ve had the worst day _ever_. My colleague’s pissing me off.”

“I noticed you were working extra hours.”

“Thanks to _him_. This morning he broke some of the equipment at the gym and because he’s a lazy punk, I had to repair it before leaving.”

“Oh. That sucks.” Harry moved up to the rounded frontal bar where Louis slid his fingers into his dry curls, stroking his scalp. The boy’s eyes pleaded, his shoulders shrinking lasciviously. “Can I make your day better?”

The kittenish act pulled Louis’ lips into a smirk. He let go of Harry’s hair to remove his sweaty tank top, tossing it behind his shoulder. Stepping even closer, he peeled the waistband to his court shorts and undies down to his thighs, his soft, clean-shaven cock slapping into his thigh. Small shocks vibrated in Louis’ groin when Harry fitted the girth between his slender fingers, slowly stroking it down.

“Love watching it grow,” Harry grunted when the skin started bulging, his thumb caressing over the reddest fraction. “It’s amazingly satisfying.” He arched his neck, his lips reaching up to suck kisses into the side of Louis’ length. “So nice, and so fascinating.”

Releasing a tight exhale, Louis retraced his hand to Harry’s hair, carefully fingering through the chocolate curls coiled by his temple. “How’re you? How’s work?”

“Really? We’re small-talking while I’m giving you head?”

Louis laughed faintly. “You aren’t giving me head, though, are you?” A spark of mischief urgently pulled Harry’s lips up around Louis’ girth. His gaze stayed adhered to Louis’ face while he sucked him deep into his mouth. “Oh—Kay. Fuck. _Fine_ , no small-talk. Just.” He’d stilled around the cockhead before bowing his head, movements slow and rhythmic. “ _My_ God. You’re a gem. You’re a fucking solitaire.”

Harry’s lips popped loose. “An object?” he teased.

“No. Absolutely not. A person. My favourite person. But you’re _like_ a diamond. You’re—“ Harry was smiling when he brought the head into his cheek, jerking its shaft in a steady pace. “So fucking admirable,” he rasped, panting between sentences. “You shine. Make me so happy. The most valuable thing,”—inhale—“I’ll ever have.”

“Mm,” Harry crooned and grazed the soaked tip against his barely-open mouth as if it was lipgloss. “I’m your little boy.”

Stunned, Louis stroked Harry’s dimpled cheek with two knuckles. “Shut up,” he whispered and Harry’s dimple grew more defined. “You’re such a deviant. A fucking minx. It’s ridiculous and remarkably sexy.”

“Think I’m sexy?” Harry teased and repeated the same procedure.

“I meant for real,” Louis smiled. “ _Shut up_. I have to get off. No small-talk, right?”

He was fully ripened when Harry’s mouth re-engulfed the head and playfully flicked his tongue against the sensitive raphe. Louis’ head tipped back, chest rising and falling, fingers rubbing over Harry’s curly-haired scalp. The steam and exceeding arousal gummed his limbs and torso with moisture. He moaned gratefully as his nerve endings shuddered under Harry’s nimble tongue.

It was slick when he pulled away, gleaming wetly under the bathroom lights. A flirtatious grin was pasted on Harry’s lips when he prepared to graze extended licks against the pulsating girth. Vibrations rippled through the strong line on the underside of Louis’ cock. He gripped Harry’s roots, jerked them, rutted hotly into Harry’s mouth. It continued persistently, Harry wallowing in the vigorous gesture, recurrently sucking him in deep.

“Fuck _me_. This is gonna be quick.”

As expected, his hips shuddered out of his control. They bucked backward before he voluntarily jerked forward. It tingled deep down under his navel, gushed toward the inside of his groin. Harry detected Louis’ hassle and sucked harder, fingers tugging daintily around the thick stem.

”Harry, Harry, Harry,” he droned on a loop, his breathy calls evaporating into the smog of steam as it crowned him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The contractions quickened, then throbbed all the way through his shaft as he reached his high. He convulsed, his mantra of admiration resuming as he ejaculated down Harry’s throat. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder, Harry successfully swallowed around him, blinking and coughing as an aftermath.

Easing back in the Jacuzzi, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which uncovered a healthy grin. His shoulders dipped below the fuzzy surface. The heat swarmed above and ahead of his euphoric face, gracefully humidifying his already damp forehead and dimpled cheeks.

“ _God_ , you’re gorgeous,” Louis snivelled.

Harry bit down a smile and shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I’ve got some of your faultless DNA in me. That must be why.”

Since Louis’ gym shorts were still attached to his thighs, he finally stepped out of them and peeled off his athletic socks. The broiling water pooled around his ankle as he plunged it through, eventually standing two-legged inside the tub. The underwater jets were ambient within his earshot, fizzing like a soft drink when his body was swallowed down by the water.

“Best homecoming _ever_ ,” Louis said under his breath, his brawny frame fluttering through pleasant shivers. The droning water prickled along his arm- and back muscles as he swam forward and circled his arms around Harry’s heated waistline. “This is starting to become my favourite place in the entire world.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Harry deadpanned and Louis gave away a gravelly laugh, inhaling the citric scent from Harry’s candle. “I mean, what is this, the _fourth_ time we’re taking a bath this week?”

Louis shrugged one shoulder. “I just can’t imagine a better place for me to be than with you, in a scorching Jacuzzi.”

“Me too.” Buckling his legs at Louis’ lower back, Harry swung forward and tucked himself close. Sprinkles of water rippled around him as he moved and gathered both hands behind Louis’ dewy neck. “So, I take it I’ve made your day better?”

“By a mile,” Louis said and joined their lips together, both having become warm and soggy from the steam. “How’s yours? Your day, I mean. How’re _you_?”

“Other than happily in love,” Harry hummed, kindling a crinkled smile on Louis’ face, “I’m quite content. I took a few photos for an article, then played with Buster—Oh, I forgot to say!” Louis’ brows curiously fetched up. “Remember the agility obstacle we bought?”

“The little hurdle?”

“Exactly. Well, since Buster _loves_ lettuce, I used a leaf to lure him over it, and he finally jumped! I was going to send you a video of it but when he’d finally caught the lettuce he simply wouldn’t move.”

“Are you serious?” Louis cooed, then grimaced and fiddled idly with Harry’s curls. “Of course you are. You’re basically the fucking King of Zoology. Yesterday I couldn’t even get him to walk over a shoe.”

Harry’s body shook with mirth, gaze lowering to fixate on Louis’ glossy lips. There, another smile had dawned. It amplified Harry’s grin, a dimple having popped into his dampened right cheek. Louis thumbed it gently. He did this often, not only because he craved to do so, but because the act would always generate a giggle out of Harry.

Cupping the cheek entirely, Louis dipped in and rejoined their mouths. They kissed little by little, lallygagging in the heat until they’d both forgotten about time, entranced and enthralled, tangling their limbs together while nestling into each other’s skin.

 

…

 

**November, 2019**

 

As a matter of course, Birdie Osborne showed up at the door to apartment 5B with a baking tin on November 10th during sundown. Harry was ahead of her, swinging it open while sporting his terry towelling dressing gown.

“Oh, dear. Have you slept all day?”

Louis smiled with mischief and crossed his ankles on the couch, having draped his naked body with a quilt. He watched Harry from the common room as the boy nervously picked at his robe, stammering out a reasonable answer.

“Uh, no. I just um, got out of the shower.”

That was a lie, which made Louis absently smirk. In his post-sex trance, he recalled the mental picture of Harry sweatily flipping him over to ride him breathless. They’d spent all evening on that very couch, flipping each other over from time to time. He certainly hadn’t had enough of slipping or slamming his cock into Harry’s wet body, but had eventually been obliged to come down from his high when they’d been interrupted by the chiming doorbell.

“Oh. That’s lovely,” Mrs. Osborne’s Anglo-Cornish accent rasped from behind Harry’s lean frame. “Would you be keen on a cup of tea tomorrow at noon, dear? We haven’t properly spoken for quite some time.”

“Of course. That’s a _great_ idea.”

“Fantastic. It seems that Mr. Tomlinson isn’t at his flat at this hour. Could you lend him a piece if you happen to see him?”

Birdie reached out a paper plate.

“Actually, love, Mr. Tomlinson isn’t there because he doesn’t live there anymore.” Harry accepted the banoffee pie with one hand, Louis feeling himself grinning while kicking into Harry’s sweatpants under the quilt. “He actually started his moving process a couple days ago. Everything’s finished except the business side of things.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding shocked. Louis was glad he couldn’t detect a single trace of relief in her voice. “I had no idea. Where’s he gone?”

“He’s actually—“

“Right here,” Louis chirped, waddled up behind Harry and closed his arms around his waist, resting his chin upon his terry-clad shoulder. “He’s in 5B now, since it comes with a lot of perks.” He smiled at Birdie, whose wrinkly lips had dropped along with her petite jaw. “Like this one,” he squeezed Harry’s midriff, craned his own neck and kissed the nineteen-year-old’s blushing cheek. “It’s a lot cheaper when you split the rent, as well. Everything’s better, really.”

“I…” Mrs. Osborne didn’t know what to say, which was understandable. She must’ve missed out on the whole Louis-Harry reciprocity. Nonetheless, the woman was pleasantly surprised. Her deep-set eyes, which were framed with rimless glasses, glittered with happy tears. “Wow. These are lovely news. How long have you two been partners?”

“For six incredible months,” Louis droned, fluttering his eyelashes while Harry’s fingers stroked over Louis’, which were still stalled and strapped over Harry’s abdomen.

These _six incredible months_ included the peerless honeymoon phase from May to June, the painful yet paramount game-changer in July, the thriving growth throughout August and September, and the congenial sense of comfortability all the way through October and half of November. Time had lectured them about the evolution of romance; how it would oscillate much like the indefinite weather, and blossom similarly to the successive seasons. The occasional quarrels were just as necessary as the nocturnal heart-to-heart conversations. And likewise, crying and allowing sentimentality was equally as healthy as engaging in laughter.

Most fragments of their relationship were worth reminiscing about. A highly-valued memory of Louis’ was when they had spontaneously escaped the city in his Volkswagen Polo and ended up luxuriating their way through a romantic getaway weekend in a rental cottage, somewhere in the wilderness on the English coastline. Despite the mention of ravishing wilderness, the two of them had spent all thirty (literally) breathtaking hours indoors, profoundly unaware and unheeding of the outside world.

A much less treasured yet equally memorable weekend was when Louis’ unbearable mother had visited, merely for the purpose of informing him of his father’s passing. Nonetheless, this detail certainly wasn’t the one had ruined their Saturday. It was when Pamela Tomlinson discovered that Harry was no longer simply the next-door neighbour, but Louis’ romantic partner. Louis had thought he wouldn’t care, but detecting the nausea in his invidious mother’s expression after hearing the declaration stung much more than he’d anticipated. _I was hoping you’d maturated_ , had been her ending phrase, which had echoed coldly after her as she’d ambled down the flight of stairs, her frumpish high-heels clacking angrily over marmoreal stairsteps in the distance.

Some of their greatest days were spent with Elsa, consuming coffee during everlasting conversations, or exploring nature behind pricy camera lenses. In these circumstances, the continual absence of Harry’s parents didn’t seem to concern the boy in the least. In fact, his warm-hearted auntie easily filled the void. It just so happened that she eventually took Louis under her wing, too. All things considered, being with Harry and experiencing the relieving presence of Elsa was the closest he’d ever been to having a real, valuable family.

Louis and Harry’s closest friends got along well, seeing as they were all, conveniently enough, already involved with each other. Harry’s bubbly, sisterly friend  _Maddie_ ,  _Lynnie_ or more correctly _Madalyn,_  had been overjoyed the time she’d discovered that Louis’ Friday client and close friend, Menstrual-Cramps-Brooke, was in fact her very own girlfriend. This had, of course, embarked upon many unforgettable double dates.

Speaking of double dates.  _Those_ also happened a lot with the company of the energetic Liam Payne, and the benevolent Zayn Malik. As luck would have it, the minor, one-sided sense of rivalry between Harry and Zayn had been a short-lived phase, which had expired directly after their first four-person meeting. And eventually, the two of them had become fucking inseparable.

In spite of how thankful they were for these five people, it was of course each other’s company they cherished the most.

Even sick-days were some of the best, when Harry would have a cold or a temperature, and Louis would be feigning coughs on the phone to his clients, malingering from time to time for the sole purpose of frittering the days away with Harry, even if this only meant granting him cuddles or doubled body heat in the hiding place under their comforter.

By November, Louis had eaten enough banoffee pie in order to finally somewhat appreciate its taste. He was indeed a fan of bananas, but wasn’t sure he believed it should ever be mixed into anything other than a fruit salad. Though, after months of eating this particular pastry in the presence of Harry, he had learnt to never again complain. Somehow, it seemed that Louis’ taste buds had been placebo-controlled, since pretending to like the pie appeared to have subconsciously improved its flavour.

“I wonder if Birdie could tell how fucked you were while answering the door. At least she didn’t see your limping afterwards.”

Louis folded the scraped-clean paper plate and tossed it into the garbage can, then set down their coffee cups into the barely loaded dishwasher. Yes, he had obviously made place for his beloved espresso machine in Harry’s—and now his own—kitchen. And yes, Harry had indeed grown fully used to the bitterness, consequently having ditched his Mocha Lattes to mimic Louis’ habit of drinking espressos.

“Realistically,” Harry began, “the entire building should know how fucked I am by now. The only reason Birdie’s the last one to know is because she’s nearly deafened with age.”

“This is true,” Louis said on a chuckle, pivoting over the kitchen tiles to leisurely catch Harry between his arms. “Remember when Douglas came up, ‘cause he thought you’d broken your furniture, but in reality we were just having really good sex?”

Even before Louis had finished his long sentence, Harry was nodding with an adolescent, double-dimpled grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed more.”

“Likewise.” Louis’ eyes were crinkled, his fingers caressing over Harry’s terry-clad lower back. “He was so concerned and we blamed it on _thunder_. It wasn’t even fucking raining. The sky was entirely cloudless!”

It seemed that Harry had intended on replying, but had involuntarily fallen into laughter while tipping his face into Louis’ neck. His breath was hot against him, his frame fluttering with frivolity under the grip of Louis’ enveloping arms. There, Louis dotted kisses into his curly-haired scalp, a procedure that was frequently interrupted by soft giggles.

Later on, when the late-afternoon sun was spilling through the large windows, they had returned to the couch.

A peachy luster enamelled Harry’s spine when Louis removed the white dressing gown and eventually left kisses over each knot down his glowing backbone. The sunbeams burned comfortably over Louis’ cheekbones when he eased further down, pressing soft kisses into Harry’s tailbone.

Spreading him open was barely necessary then, considering how it was only an hour earlier that he’d slipped out of him. Regardless, he grabbed the half-empty bottle of lube and loaded a generous amount onto two fingers before ramming them inside. Harry gasped into the cushion and forcibly arched his back when Louis’ fingers rattled frantically between the loosened muscles to his rim.

“Come on,” Harry muttered, reaching back to cease Louis’ tottering wrist. “I’m stretched already.”

“Fine.” He complied and reached into the box of condoms on the low-set coffee table, tapping along the carton walls until he’d managed to snitch one from the very bottom. “Fuck,” he swore, ripping it open. “This is the third fucking box we’ve used up this week.”

The cushion muffled Harry’s laugh. “Let’s be honest. Half of those were today.”

“True,” Louis laughed throatily, pushed one hand down on the couch and strapped the latex ring to his stem with the other. “Happy Sunday.”

Bathing in cantaloupe sunshine, Louis prodded the tip to Harry’s tenderly swollen rim and watched as his cock slipped inside. He weighed them both down in the cushions, snapping his hips back for a second lunge. His fingers gripped over Harry’s back and nailed sharply into the shoulder blades as the muscles flexed under his perspiring skin. Feeling as though he was floating among the stars, Louis rolled his torso in sync with his animalistic pelvic thrusts.

“Ugh, Lou—Can you—Agh, yeah, _there_ ,” Harry was whining, having tilted his head into the billowy backrest. Their gasps matched up when Louis’ blew over Harry’s earlobe, quickening under the meaty sounds of Louis’ balls repeatedly clapping against Harry’s arse cheeks. “It’s—It’s perfect.”

“You still feel like heaven,” Louis droned, lacing his newly licked lips to Harry’s jaw. “Fucking amazing.”

Even after gaining a stable pace, Louis felt the urge to deepen and strengthen their momentum. Blazing sunlight teased in the corner of his eye and inflamed the impulse, coaxing him into a mighty speed. He was more vulgar when he pushed down, knocking Harry’s body into a full arch. Frenzied cries squalled from Harry’s mouth, eventually stifling into the cushioned backrest. The padded couch quaked beneath them, creaking and thudding against the carpeted floor.

Each stroke ignited another gratifying fire under Louis’ sweaty groin, the flames tickling and scorching deep in his stomach, spreading quickly to the every fluttering nerve ending. His moans rasped into Harry’s ear, fiery breath fanning hotly over the damp skin.

They were frantic under the sun, rocking and convulsing unevenly while rubbing in each other’s saliva and perspiration. Their muscle-twitching bodies were coated in moisture, gleaming in the orange lambency, the nape of Harry’s neck dripping wetly where Louis breathed heatedly against it. He was a gold-brick, melting under the calescent combination of temperature and hectic erotism.

A roaring fire broke out in Louis’ groin, his torso tipping back to gain a more balanced approach. His hip thrusts quickened, hands gripping over Harry’s slippery middle. Harry choked on a sob, his hole clenching around Louis each time he victoriously battered into Harry’s ductless gland. It was raw and tender after the continuous hits, finally jostling Harry into an orgasmic reverie in time with his loudest, most strained moan. The boy humped and whimpered into the cushions while Louis proceeded rocking into him.

Louis’ thrusts grew quicker and shorter through tough anticipation, the desperation visually dripping down his hairline in watery beads. He flicked his head to toss his fringe aside, hip bones hammering until he’d lapsed into a mind-numbing daze. Once he was no longer fully unconscious, he plunged harder, trembling as he spurted deep inside of Harry through throbbing shocks. He stilled on top of him, exhaustedly relishing in the explosive afterglow.

He stayed plastered to Harry’s back, both of them quieting down in the sweltering twilight. Their breaths were stabilising in unison, gradually reforming to match the pace of their settling heartbeats. If Louis hadn’t wanted the polar opposite, he could’ve tipped asleep any minute. Eventually though, he sat up on the underside of Harry’s thighs, languidly tucking the condom into the empty carton box.

“Jeez. Your stamina is fantastic,” Harry thrummed in a raspy drone, remaining stock-still in the same position. “It never falters. Where do you get your bloody energy from?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Louis sighed through a smile and returned to draping his body over Harry’s. He tucked himself close, his face crammed into Harry’s cheek. “I think I fall into autopilot when I’m fucking you. It’s like I can’t stop accelerating.”

It seemed that Harry was seconds from dozing off when Louis began fondling his neck with supple, slow-motioned kisses. In disapproval, Louis nibbled on Harry’s skin and grunted into his ear. Harry’s eyelids fluttered open, eyelashes ruffling beautifully as his drowsy Bambi eyes watched over Louis’ grin.

“What?” he drawled.

“You’re boring. Talk to me.”

Eventually, when Harry neck started cramping, Louis flipped him over on his back and snuggled closely on top. Soothing quiescence stretched around them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the late-afternoon sun glazing over their faces. It had been minutes since they actually spoke. Louis was twiddling his fingers in Harry’s fringe, even though this was known to easily put him to sleep.

“Remember how I said the number five is sky blue? Because of my synesthesia?”

Louis blinked, his ears confused by the sudden change of sounds. “I do.”

“It’s a lot like your eyes,” he said, gawking attentively, as if he hadn’t ever seen them before. “And the letter B is a lot like mine. An organic green, I would say.”

At the mention, Louis inspected the pigment and undertones in Harry’s irises. The edges were darker and more forest-like, while the insides varied between a pale green and a mild tinge of brown. And although these were only shades from a spectrum, Louis could see much more than just colours in Harry’s eyes.

“Maybe 5B is our code-name,” Harry whispered, his smile glowing with hope.

With crinkly eyes, Louis rubbed his nose over the tip of Harry’s. “It wouldn’t be much of a secret, though. Since it’s on our door.”

“It’s secret if we’re the only ones who know about it,” answered Harry, Louis smiling wider while repeating the nose gesture. “It’s a beautiful coincidence. Blue and green.”

Louis’ eyelashes batted as his gaze fluctuated between Harry’s eyes and lips. “D’ya know what else is a beautiful coincidence?”

“What?”

“That we’re here. That you and me are coexisting under the same sunshine. Living during the same generation. Dawdling in same time zone. Breathing the same oxygen. Sleeping under the same fucking roof.”

Harry’s smile softened, his fingers tenderly lacing over Louis’ jaw. “Sounds a bit more like fate. Or a modern, gay fairytale.”

Louis nodded, face glazed in a smile. “Maybe that’s what it is then. We aren’t even existing right now. Our life is a fairytale.”

“I know what it’s called,” Harry said, biting down a smile. He twirled a finger in Louis’ sticky fringe, giggling as Louis attentively awaited the continuation. “To Lure a Hummingbird.”

Louis’ face lit up through giggles. “ _Einstein_! Have I told you you’re a fucking genius?”

And even though Harry was a genius, the title had one loophole. Granted, Louis was the melodious hummingbird that Harry would observe from his balcony. Though, under no circumstances had Harry ever _lured_ him. The similes were accurate—Harry’s sweetness could easily entice him the same way bee balm, columbine and coral honeysuckle would attract a hummingbird into a garden. But realistically, Harry Styles didn’t have to spare any effort in order for Louis Tomlinson to come flying.

“I’m so goddamn in love with you,” Louis whispered when they’d fallen out of a rapture of giggles, their limbs entangled and fingers so fixedly dovetailed that Louis could sense Harry’s fucking heartbeat through the skin of their clammy palms. “I’m in love with your brain. The way it’s constructed fascinates me every single day. I’m in love with your imaginative power. Your eloquence. Your obscure preferences, particularly because they dissent from my own.” In the little pit of Harry’s palm and against the centre of his own rib cage, Louis could feel Harry’s arrow-struck valentine-heart gradually picking up its speed. “I’m in love with your fucking dimples. I really am.” Harry’s body shook with mirth under Louis’ weighing down torso. “Baby, it’s no joke. Ever since the first time I noticed them, when I made you laugh in the elevator, I’ve been unrequitedly in love with your dimples.”

Harry smiled, the corners of his eyes having dampened with tears. “The love is _requited_. My dimples love you back.”

“Only your dimples?”

“My entire body. Every cell, and every tissue. Every organ, and every corpuscle. They’re over-crammed with love. So much that it’s seeping out of my fucking pores.”

Maybe that's why his cuddles were heavenly.

Along with this, everything was making sense.

Every little piece.

Since Harry was indeed the genius and his partner’s knowledge in astronomy was slim to non-existent, Louis only knew to thank his lucky stars for contributing as their very own matchmakers in heaven. But maybe Harry’s beloved moon was the most responsible out of all satellites in their universe. It was, after all, what had brought them to the roof on the night of the full moon, quite obviously. Somehow, Louis had captured Harry’s heart and absentmindedly put it on hold inside his pocket.

Thank God for Louis’ pocket, and God bless the full-fucking-moon.

Sometimes, it was a blessing to be proved wrong. And from the get-go, Louis had sworn that if anyone in any branch of the universe was dense enough to hide their spare key under their doormat, humanity was eternally doomed. But since Harry was in fact the genius, it didn’t come as a surprise that Louis’ swearing had been entirely false.

Because if everyone in every branch of the universe would suddenly become as ingeniously perceptive as Harry Styles, humanity would be salvaged for eternity.

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! This story is very close to my heart and it would mean the absolute world to me if you were to share your thoughts about it in the comments! 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read all the way to the end. I hope you loved it nearly as much as I do.


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